


Embracing Madness

by Xenobia



Series: Working Overtime [3]
Category: Black Butler, Kuroshitsuji
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobia/pseuds/Xenobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events that led up to Undertaker being forced to execute an old colleague, Grell and William take it upon themselves to keep an eye on him. It soon becomes clear to William that he won't be able to maintain a sense of professionalism around him. The first Shinigami mini story in a series I will be doing. Takes place after "Eternity".  Yaoi, graphic sex, violence, bondage, bdsm</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# "Embracing madness"

 

# Chapter 1

 

 

* * *

 

**Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso.  I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.**

 

* * *

 

He prodded at the cold, dead flesh curiously, examining the injuries that led to the death of his newest "guest".  He guessed that the stab to the throat was what ultimately took her life, though her young body was riddled with other stab wounds, and the necrosis had already begun to set in by the time her body was discovered.

 

"Someone got quite vicious with you, my dear," muttered the Undertaker, "and he was none too accurate.  Every strike missed your vitals, save for the last one.  A jealous rage, perhaps?  Were you a naughty girl?"

 

He looked at the still, pale face and he shrugged.  "All right, keep your secrets.  I know a certain redhead who would remind me that a lady does not kiss and tell." 

 

He reached for his protective gloves, peering down at her through the lenses if the glasses he now wore when conducting his grim business in the basement.  The long fringe of his bangs was pinned back from his eyes so that he could see clearly, and he grinned down at the oblivious girl on his table.

 

"Not to worry," he assured her, "We'll get you all prettied up for your big day.  Don't you fret; I've improved quite a bit, now that I'm no longer relying on sense of touch alone.  I can actually _see_ what I am doing, when I apply the makeup to your pretty little face.  But first, we must embalm you.  It wouldn't do for us to rouge up those cheeks and lips, only to have your face rot around it.  That might spoil things, wouldn't you agree?"

 

The body didn't reply, but the silver-haired man standing over it nodded as if he could hear a response anyhow.  "You'll be the envy of the cemetery, I assure you.  I'll patch up those holes, and then I'll get your special mixture prepared.  It will keep you fresh for your special day."

 

He turned away from the cadaver, his long, pale hair swishing with his motions, hanging below the waist.  His booted footsteps echoed on the stone as he walked to his instrument table and pulled it over to the table.  He flipped back the long sleeves of his draping black garments as he prepared to select a needle to thread for the first part of the "prettying up" process.  Shinigami eyes with overlapping irises of green and amber narrowed as he chose one of the smaller, curved needles and threaded it, managing to work the items with surprising ease for a man with such long, black fingernails.

 

"I nearly kept them trimmed," he told his subject in a distracted tone, poking the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration.  "Sometimes these nails can be a bother, but I am quite used to them now, and I perform better with them this way.  You're in good hands, young lady."

 

He finished threading the needle, and he smiled down at the girl as he loomed over her.  "Now, be still.  This won't hurt a bit."

 

 

* * *

 

"Oooh…ah, William!  Yes!  _Yes, right there!_ "

 

"Shh," came the unsteady response.  "Neighbors, Grell."

 

The redhead tried to do as advised and quiet his passionate cries, but the next thrust sent him over the edge and he couldn't resist hollering his companion's name.  He panted and turned his head to kiss William's seeking mouth, allowing it to muffle his moans with a kiss.  William's hands stroked his taut belly, and he held himself deep inside of him, his knees pressing into the mattress between Grell's.  He gripped his bucking sex with one hand and stroked it leisurely as his tongue delved into his mouth to caress his.  Grell smiled against the press of Will's lips when he felt the brunet coming inside of him, and he sucked on his probing tongue invitingly as he shuddered and groaned. 

 

Grell settled his silk-bound hands over the one resting on his stomach, blissfully unaware of anything else in the world at this moment, save the feel of his lover's warmth against him, and inside of him.  He leaned back against William, his sweat-dampened skin sliding against the other Shinigami's.  He loved this position.    

 

"Will," he sighed when the brunet released his lips to kiss his neck.  The bonds securing his wrists were delightfully secure, without cutting off his circulation.  His prince was very, very good at binding him and subduing him with his authority, but there were other things that Grell wanted to try…things that he had the good sense not to mention just yet in their relationship.  He hoped to get some help with that eventually, but he was quite happy to be patient, on that front.  William was definitely a giver in bed, even if he acted like he was made of stone and ice outside of it.

 

The felicity of the afterglow was spoiled abruptly, when William happened to glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table.  He tensed up and squinted, leaning over to the side to reach hastily for the glasses he'd left sitting on the opposite nightstand. 

 

"Oh balls, is that the time?"

 

Still dazed and feeling delightfully sticky in all the right places, Grell lazily picked up his own red-framed glasses, dangling against his chest by the chain around his neck.  He put them on and looked at the face of the clock.  "Yes, it's after seven.  What's the matter, Will?  We had no late meetings scheduled for tonight, did we?"

 

William pulled away, sliding out of Grell in the process and making him sigh.  "Undertaker," he murmured, still breathless from their encounter.  "One of us needs to check in on him, remember?"

 

"Ah, yes.  That." 

 

Grell suffered an interesting moment of conflicting feelings.  He was annoyed to have his tender moment with William interrupted, yet he was loathe to delay him from his task.  They had taken it upon themselves to visit the retired reaper three nights per week, and ring him every other day as well.  It had been two weeks since Undertaker had been forced to execute his old associate Dedrich Fischer, to put a stop to his madness.  Because suicide so often became an attractive choice for many reapers, Grell and William were keeping an eye on Undertaker to ensure he wouldn't try to follow his old friend into the grave.

 

"You had best go, then.  He'll be locking up for the night, soon."

 

"Perhaps you should go," offered William.

 

Grell hid a smirk, and he stretched out on his stomach over the surface of the bed, sighing with gratification.  "William, I have gone each time since the night you dropped off the projector to him.  Go and see him, we both know you want to.  I'm sure he enjoys your company more than you think."

 

William had his back to him when Grell rolled onto his back to watch him.  He retrieved his discarded shirt from the back of the chair in the corner, and he pulled it on.  "Possibly."

 

Some quality in the tone of his voice made Grell tilt his head curiously.  "Then why are you still such a ninny about visiting him?"

 

William began to button up his shirt.  "Refrain from making such ridiculous accusations, Grell.  I am merely trying to avoid offending him."

 

Grell furrowed his brows.  "I think I stand the risk of doing that more than you do."  He relaxed on the bedding, ignoring for the moment the damp spot from his completion.  He closed his eyes and waved blindly at his companion, content and lazy with the afterglow of their coupling.  "Go on, Will.  I think I'm going to retire early."

 

"Lazy," accused the brunet in an undertone as he put on his belt and socks. 

 

"It's your fault," answered Grell with a sleepy grin, cracking an eye open to look at him again.  "You worked me to death at the office and then ravished me to complete exhaustion afterwards.  I have nothing left."

 

William half-turned, and the light from the wall sconce glinted on the lenses of his glasses.  "As I recall, you initiated our encounter."  He smirked subtly at him, looking sexy and slightly mussed.   

 

Grell smiled up at him and he sat up, crawling over the surface of the bed to the foot of it to close the distance between them.  He arose to his knees and he reached out to comb his fingers through William's hair, smoothing it back into place out of courtesy. 

 

"Mm, you look dashing," he sighed when William turned to face him completely.  He started to help him with his tie, and the brunet left it to him and cupped his bottom, rubbing it familiarly.  Grell started to react shamelessly to the intimate touch, and he tugged on the tie he'd just secured, forcing William to bend over or get choked.

 

"Promise me some morning delight before work tomorrow," demanded the redhead, grinning in a predatory manner at the refined hunk he'd leashed.

 

William's expression was impassive, and he reached out to catch a handful of Grell's trailing, crimson hair.  He pulled on it, forcing Grell's head back and drawing a gasp from him.  "That will depend on how you conduct yourself, between now and tomorrow.  I promise that you will receive your due accordingly."

 

Grell shivered with delight and he sighed.  "I do so love it when you take charge, Will.  Kiss me, before you go."

 

For a moment, it seemed William would grant his demand.  He lowered his mouth to Grell's, and his lips hovered teasingly close for several moments.  They never touched, and William's tight hold on his hair prevented Grell from closing the remaining distance for a kiss.  When he spoke, his warm breath caressed the blushing redhead's parted lips, teasing him further.

 

"Change the sheets while I’m out," instructed William in a low, seductive voice, "and I'll give you all the kisses you like, when I return."

 

Grell sighed, but changing the bedding they shared was a small price to pay for his lover's kisses.  He didn't want to sleep in a damp spot, anyhow.  "I'll be waiting for you, then."

 

Grell took advantage of William's nearness and though he couldn't lay claim to his lips for a kiss, his tongue was able to reach enough to trace them invitingly.  They parted impulsively and Grell squirmed in frustration, now almost fully hard again with desire.  William released him almost roughly, and he pushed him back onto the bed with a firm shove against his chest.

 

"Save your playing for later," warned the brunet seriously, adjusting his glasses.  He retrieved his blazer and slipped it on.  "I refuse to show up on Undertaker's doorstep in a disgraceful state."

 

Sprawled on his back again from the strength of the shove, Grell propped himself on his elbows and he gave his companion a lecherous look, scanning him up and down with lusty eyes.  "I sincerely doubt Undertaker would mind seeing you in a state of arousal, Will.  He might even appreciate it."

 

The sculpted cheekbones colored slightly, before William turned away.  He slipped his gloves on wordlessly and he retrieved his death scythe.  "I should be no longer than an hour," he said over his shoulder as he headed for the bedroom door.  "Order something from downstairs without me, should you get hungry."

 

Grell sighed.  The dining service in the apartment building was quite nice, but there was only one thing he was hungry for, now.  He knew better than to press his luck, though.  It was amazing that William agreed to move in together as it was, and he was the sort of man that could only bend so far, before he snapped.

 

"I do hope our silver gentleman can help me teach you to bend a bit more, Will," murmured Grell to his now-absent lover.

 

 

* * *

 

"My goodness," muttered the silver Shinigami to his deceased companion, "that's a terribly potent odor you have inside of you, dear."  He wrinkled his nose and he coughed, waving absently over the cut he'd made in her abdominal cavity.  It wasn't uncommon for corpses to release trapped bodily gasses during autopsies and embalming preparations, but this was something different.  It was a chemical smell, and if he didn't know any better, he would have thought someone attempted to embalm her before she made it onto his table.

 

"What in death's name did you eat last?" coughed the Undertaker. 

 

He let one sleeve drop down over his hand and he pressed it against his mouth and nose, narrowing his eyes as he reached for an instrument to push the flesh apart and have a closer look.  He saw something in the abdominal cavity that he was certain wasn't meant to be there, and he leaned closer.  He started to feel dizzy from the un-natural fumes and it occurred to him—too late—that he should probably stop breathing.  His eyes were watering and his lungs were burning from what he'd breathed in, and he gave up on getting a closer look in favor of moving away from the source of the poisonous fumes.

 

"Well...this isn't...good," he gasped, his vision going black around the edges as he staggered toward the stairs leading out of the basement. 

 

He made it to the first step, before he collapsed.  His reaching hands twitched as he lost complete consciousness.

 

 

* * *

 

William frowned as he knocked again on the Undertaker's shop door.  He was usually in at this hour, but there was a chance that he might have gone out.  Still, given the recent turn of events, the dispatch supervisor couldn't help but feel concerned.  When he tried the door and found it open, he concern increased.  He pushed it open a crack and stuck his head in.

 

"Undertaker?  It's William T. Spears.  Are you in here?"

 

No answer.

 

William frowned and considered the matter.  He didn't want to overstep himself by entering uninvited, but then, there were other London residents that wouldn't be so courteous.  Not many people would have the nerve to try and break into Undertaker's shop, though.  Those who did would have to be desperate, extremely brave or unhinged.  With that thought in mind, he clutched the pole of his scythe and entered the shop, eyeing every shadow as he walked through it to the curtain leading to the back room and the basement stairs. 

 

"Undertaker?  Please answer, if you can hear me."

 

Again, there was no response.  More than a little concerned now, William passed through the curtains and went to the stairs leading down to the basement.  Keeping a cautious eye out, he started to descend—and that's when he saw him.  Undertaker was lying sprawled at the bottom of the staircase.  His head was bare and his silvery hair was spread out like a blanket over him.   He appeared to have pinned his bangs back from his face, and his glasses were askew on his face.

 

Forgetting all thoughts of danger, William started to hurry to the unconscious funeral director, when he detected the sharp chemical odor permeating the dank air.  He prudently stopped breathing, before descending the steps.  He nudged Undertaker and he nearly sighed when he saw that his chest was rising and falling.  He was breathing in more of the chemicals, evidently  having passed out before he could stop the reflexive function of his lungs. 

 

"Honestly, sir," muttered William with the last of the breath remaining in his lungs.  He banished his scythe so that it wouldn't get in the way, and he gathered the fallen reaper into his arms carefully.

 

Thanking his natural Shinigami strength, William lifted the dead weight of Undertaker over his shoulder and he carried him up the stairs.  Silently begging his companion to forgive him for the crude handling, he brought Undertaker through the curtained alcove and into the main part of the shop.  He kicked aside a coffin lid and he breathed a sigh of relief to find it unoccupied.  He eased his charge into the coffin, and he then realized that Undertaker's glasses had fallen off while he was moving him. 

 

Always respectful of Shinigami lenses—even though Undertaker had abandoned his so long ago—William hastily looked around for them.  When he found them on the floor near the curtains, he retrieved them, shut the curtains completely and returned to Undertaker's side.  He put the glasses back on him and he took a moment to admire the unconscious reaper's face.  Marveling at Undertaker's scarred, beautiful visage, he dared to breathe a sigh and sniff the air experimentally.

 

"I think the fumes are contained to the basement, for now," he said to his oblivious companion, reaching out impulsively to trace Undertaker's features with a gloved finger.  He would go down and investigate to be sure, and he hoped that Undertaker didn't need medical attention.

 

He grimaced at the very thought of it, knowing that Undertaker wouldn't willingly submit to being seen by any Shinigami medics.  He'd sooner visit a human doctor than allow one from the Association to lay hands on him.  With another little sigh, William got up and went into the basement to locate and try to stop the source of the fumes.

 

 

* * *

 

Undertaker was surprised to wake up in a coffin, but not particularly alarmed.  He sat up with a groan and he coughed into his sleeve.  He grimaced, and he wondered how he wound up here.  He heard the curtains being drawn behind him, and he twisted to see who was approaching.

 

"Ah, Mr. Spears," he greeted between coughs.  "Can I presume I have you to thank for this?"

 

The younger Shinigami nodded respectfully, straightening his glasses with a gloved hand, as seemed to be his habit.  "I found you unconscious in the basement, and I brought you up here.  You apparently breathed in some toxic fumes whilst working."

 

"Yes, I remember."  Undertaker grimaced at the aftertaste in his mouth.  He wiped his lips again, and coughed, making William frown with concern.  "There was something in the body I was examining that should not have been there."

 

William nodded.  "That was where the fumes were coming from.  I didn't look closely, but I closed the door to the basement steps in an effort to contain them.  I wouldn't advise you to breathe, when you go down there."

 

Undertaker smirked.  "Good advice.  The vapors came up rather suddenly on me, and I was passing out before I knew it.  If I were a mortal man, I would probably end up buried in this casket I'm sitting in."

 

William's handsome features reflected concern.  "I would be more than happy to take you to Dispatch headquarters for medical care, if you feel you need it.  Please, at least consider it."

 

Undertaker waved it away absently, his long sleeve flapping with the motions of his hand.  "That won't be necessary.  My lungs are clearing up nicely on their own.  No need for concern."

 

William nodded, not looking particularly convinced.  "As you wish."  He approached and he offered his hand.  "At least allow me to help you out of that coffin."

 

Undertaker considered the hand, and he shrugged.  He placed his long, pale hand in William's and he allowed the other man to help him to his feet.  "You're too kind."

 

Now standing before him, he couldn't help but notice the faint flush in William's cheeks, and he grinned before he could help it.  Guessing his guest wouldn't pull away, he traced William's face with a long fingernail.  William's gaze became heavy-lidded, his eyes losing focus behind the immaculate lenses of his glasses. 

 

"They grew back fast," he observed, referencing the long, black nails.

 

Undertaker absently lifted his free hand to look at the nails in question.  "Yes, they usually do.  I think my calcium intake can be thanked for that.  I have milk with my cookies, each day."

 

"Y-yes," stammered William breathlessly.  "Well, do you require my help to—"

 

Undertaker closed the distance and kissed him, driven as much by mischief as desire. The brunet immediately put his arms around him and returned the kiss, his tongue stroking Undertaker's eagerly as it entered his mouth.  Undertaker took his time, plundering every corner of William's mouth and teasingly caressing every inch of it.  He felt the effect it had on his companion as William's body pressed tightly against his, and his own body reacted in return.  The young man in his arms groaned softly into his mouth in a delightfully submissive way that had Undertaker wondering if perhaps he might be ready for more.

 

All good things came to those who waited, however.  Undertaker was used to taking care of his own desires.  As eager as he was to see if he could make this uptight creature lose his inhibitions, he knew the value of patience.  He released William after taking his breath away, and he smiled with delight at the dazed expression on that face.

 

"My gratitude for your assistance, William," purred Undertaker.  "Would you mind waiting here, while I examine the body downstairs?  I'll get the kettle boiling for some tea, in the mean time."

 

"Of course," answered William in a breathy voice, still looking dazed by the kiss. 

 

Satisfied that he wouldn't run off this time, Undertaker smiled at him.  "Help yourself to a biscuit, while you're waiting.  I shouldn't be too long."

 

William glanced at the jar of bone-shaped treats sitting on the desk, and he nodded.  "Thank you."

 

"So polite," chuckled Undertaker.  He knew William didn't care for sweets, but he was too well-bred to turn down hospitality.  He left him alone, halting his breath before going into the back alcove and opening the door to the stairwell.

 

 

* * *

 

William stood up from his seat on one of the coffins when Undertaker came back out from behind the curtain, holding two steaming beakers of tea.  He was still weak in the knees from the kiss, and he was again struggling with confusion and desire.

 

"Thank you," he said politely as he took the beaker offered to him.  "Did you find anything?"

 

Undertaker nodded.  "It looks like someone is trying to kill me."

 

William nearly choked on his tea.  "Pardon?"

 

Undertaker took a seat on the coffin that William had just been sitting on, and he took a sip of his tea before answering.  "There was a bladder stuffed into the cadaver's abdominal cavity, and it was filled with a chemical mixture that reacts to the air when exposed to it.  I cut into it just enough to start the reaction, when I was opening her up to finish the autopsy.  Someone stuffed it into the body through one of the stab wounds, deliberately placing it where the scalpel was most likely to cut when I opened her up.  I have to applaud their finesse, whoever they are."

 

"And you are certain this was a deliberate attempt to poison you?"  William frowned, forgetting all about the hot drink in his hands.  "When would they have found the opportunity to plant it, and how could they be sure the body would go to you, rather than some other funeral director in the city?"

 

"Because I'm the most popular funeral director, in these parts."  Undertaker grinned at his own candor.  "All the London business comes to me, unless I'm overbooked.  Whoever did this was counting on that body being delivered to me, I'm sure."

 

"Then the organization needs to investigate," William said.  "I'll make a report and—"

 

"Don't bother."

 

William frowned again, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose.  "But this is a serious matter, Undertaker.  If someone is attempting to kill you, the dispatch society needs to look into it."

 

"I'm no longer employed by the dispatch society," reminded the older reaper.  He sipped his tea again and shook his head.  "I'm sure they have better things to do than to investigate an attempt on my life."

 

"Though you are retired, you still have some value to the organization," insisted William.  "I would be remiss if I didn't report this to my superiors."

 

Undertaker sighed.  "You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

 

William shook his head.  "My apologies, but no.  If someone intends you harm, I would seek them out and…deal with them." 

 

Undertaker smirked, and he set aside his tea.  "Would you, now?"  He stood up and stepped closer, gazing into William's eyes.  "And to my wishes mean nothing, to you?"

 

"Of course they do," amended William hastily, his eyes latching onto those sensual, smiling lips.  "I mean no disrespect.  I only want to protect you…that is, I know you can defend yourself, but whoever is responsible for this attempt obviously doesn't intend to give you that chance."

 

Undertaker began to chuckle.  "It's a human, William.  I think I can manage it."

 

"How do you know?" pressed the brunet, trying to ignore the other man's scent and nearness.  It was so hard to concentrate, when all he really wanted to do was embrace him and kiss him again. 

 

"Because if it were a reaper, he or she would know that poison inhalation isn't likely to kill me.  We don't require oxygen to survive, the way humans do."

 

William couldn't dispute that.  "Even so, I think it would be better if I brought the matter in.  Whoever is behind it isn't likely to give up with a single attempt."

 

Undertaker reached out to caress his face again, the nails gliding over William's skin with a pleasant, tickling sensation.  "I have to admit, it's rather flattering to have an attractive young thing like you so concerned for my well-being.  Those fumes might have eventually done enough damage to put me in the hospital after all, if you hadn't intervened.  I'd like to express my gratitude, again."

 

William swallowed, and his lips moved of their own accord.  "Please do."

 

Undertaker snickered briefly with amusement, and then he kissed him again.  William gladly parted his lips for him when his tongue stroked between them, and he found himself pressed back against the closed coffin he'd been sitting on, earlier.  He dropped his tea without thought and he blurted an apology when the beaker crashed to the floor and broke.

 

"I have plenty more," reminded Undertaker against his lips, and then he delved into his mouth again to ravish him. 

 

William's knees soon began to buckle, his groin tightening completely in his trousers as his companion demonstrated his kissing skills.  Undertaker eased him down on top of the coffin, and William groaned with desire as the silver Shinigami's lean body covered his.  William was the authoritative figure in the bedroom, when he and Grell coupled, and that was exactly how they both liked it.  With Undertaker, however, he found himself easily submitting, and he parted his thighs to allow his hips to settle between them.

 

He heard his own breathless voice gasp the other reaper's name as Undertaker's lips left his to lay claim to his throat, and he tilted his head back to arch his neck.  He absently yanked his gloves off to bare his hands, anxious to feel the long, thick silk of Undertaker's hair between his fingers.  It occurred to him that he should perhaps put a stop to this, regardless of Grell giving his permission to be with this reaper on more than one occasion.

 

"W-wait," murmured William huskily.  God, the feel of that hair caressing his skin as the Undertaker's lips worked their magic…it was intoxicating.  "I think…we should stop."

 

He hated himself for saying it, and he instantly regretted it when Undertaker stopped kissing his throat and lifted up to gaze down at him.  His hair was beginning to come loose of the bobby pins he'd pinned it back with, and a long strand of his fringe fell over his left eye. 

 

"You're sure you want to stop?"  He smiled at him.  "Or is that your overblown sense of professionalism talking?"

 

William stared up at him helplessly, unsure of how to answer that.  No, he really _didn't_ want him to stop, but he'd always thought if he committed to someone in a relationship, it would be monogamous.  This situation confused him, and he wondered how he could want two different reapers so completely.

 

"Perhaps you and I should develop a safe word for you, hmm?"  Undertaker ran his nails over William's chest in a sensual glide, still smiling at him in a manner that was partly predatory and partly coaxing.  "I wouldn't want to mistake a sincere request to stop for encouragement."

 

Hopelessly confused, William tried to gather his wits, but it was difficult to do so with Undertaker's thigh pressing so intimately against his swollen groin.  "I…don't understand.  What is a 'safe word'?"

 

"It's exactly what it sounds like, you naïve chap.  A safe word is what one uses when he or she sincerely wants a partner to stop.  People so often utter the word 'no' when they really mean 'yes'."

 

William could certainly relate to that, under the circumstances.  Breathing heavily with arousal, he couldn't resist combing his fingers through the pale hair cascading around his companion's shoulders.  "I'm not sure what I want," he admitted, but that wasn't true.  He knew he wanted this man…desperately.  He just didn't know how to quiet that little voice of doubt inside of him.

 

"Hence the safe word," said Undertaker.  He began to unbutton William's blazer, and when the brunet didn't stop him, he lowered his mouth to his throat again and resumed kissing and licking the sensitive skin.  "Use it when you absolutely want to stop, and I'll comply immediately."

 

"I…see."  William's eyes fluttered shut, and a little moan of desire arose in his throat when Undertaker's lips sucked on a sensitive spot, just under the right side of his jaw.  He felt ridiculously ignorant.  "What should my safe word be?"

 

The exploring lips grinned, and the lacquered nails plucked open the buttons of his shirt.  "Whatever you want it to be.  Something familiar…something that makes you feel safe."

 

William could only think of one word.  "Overtime."

 

The funeral director laughed softly.  "The thing you complain so often about is what makes you feel safe?"

 

"I don't claim it to be logical," answered William.  He gasped when Undertaker's hand burrowed into his parted shirt and tweaked a nipple, making his groin throb with pleasure. 

 

"' _Overtime_ ' it is, then," purred the older Shinigami.  He fondled the nipple gently, rubbing a finger over the pebbled flesh in a circular motion.  "There's a fine line between pleasure and pain, William."

 

The brunet gasped as his nipple was pinched again, painfully.  Undertaker followed up with gentle caresses once more, easing the discomfort and replacing it with tingling pleasure.  He moved on to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment.  He rubbed against the bulge in William's trousers, pressing his own swollen length against his thigh through their clothing as he did so.  William started to reach down, insanely eager to free Undertaker's arousal from the leather pants he wore beneath his long garments.  The silver reaper caught hold of both of his wrists and he pinned them over William's head firmly.  He instinctively strained against the restraining hold at first, but Undertaker shushed him warningly and he made himself relax.

 

"That's better," murmured Undertaker in approval, licking William's jaw and chin.  "You will get your turn to explore soon enough.  You've got to let me play first, though.  It's been quite some time since I've enjoyed pleasures of the flesh with anyone, you understand.  I need to get back into my element."

 

"I…understand," William said, nigh desperate to be with him now, in any way Undertaker saw fit.  He didn't resist his hold as the older Shinigami held his wrists in place with one hand, while resuming his touching with the other.  He bit his lip on a groan as the questing fingers pinched his nipples again, one at a time.  It hurt and felt good, all at once.  Undertaker's mouth was a contrast to the punishing tweaks, kissing his throat almost tenderly as he played.  He dragged his nails down William's bare chest, pressing down hard enough to leave faint scratch marks and make him squirm.  It tickled a bit when they moved over his ribs and he tensed, trying not to chuckle in response. 

 

William uttered his companion's name again when his palm cupped the swell of his crotch, and he pushed into the touch as Undertaker gave it a firm, delightful squeeze.  He used just enough pressure to make the brunet's balls tingle, but not enough to cause real pain.  He began to massage him, and he raised his head to gaze down at him as he did so.

 

"Look at me," commanded Undertaker.  "I want to gaze into your eyes as I play, William."

 

Helpless against the force of his lust, William opened his eyes to obey.  He blushed in spite of himself as he stared into those silver-lashed eyes, unable to look away.  He panted softly, his lips parting with his quickening breath.  Undertaker demonstrated a masterful touch, gripping his length through his trousers as he stroked him.  A damp spot grew on William's pants and he clenched his restrained hands into fists, struggling to hold back moans of need.  Now he knew how Grell felt, when he held him down and toyed with him.  Unlike Grell, however, William wasn't practiced in taking on a submissive role.

 

"Be still," warned Undertaker with a white-toothed grin as William tried to break his hold on him so that he could embrace him.  William relaxed again obediently, biting his lip to resist acting on his instincts.  It was difficult to lie there passively, but his desire for Undertaker made the struggle worth it to him. 

 

William's breath began to catch and shiver on his lips as the insistent fondling continued, and he couldn't resist pushing into Undertaker's touch.  Undertaker didn't seem to mind it; in fact, he encouraged it with low murmurs.  He caught hold of William's earlobe between his teeth, and he gave it a tug that actually hurt a bit.  Half worried that the unpredictable reaper might decide to chew it off, William turned his head to silently seek out a kiss.  Undertaker obliged him, covering his mouth with his and thrusting his tongue in with slow, seductive motions.  William caressed it with his own, and another moan vibrated in his throat when the friction against his erection made it throb.

 

"I may disgrace myself soon," he warned when Undertaker's mouth briefly left his.

 

The kiss-swollen lips pulled into another broad grin, and the sculpted, pale brows lifted slightly.  "That's a curious term to use; 'disgrace'.  I have never found pleasure to be disgraceful, William."

 

William flushed and he tried to correct his error.  "I...just meant that I don't want to make a mess on you."

 

Undertaker laughed then, and he lowered his head to nuzzle William's throat in an almost affectionate manner.  "I take it back; you _do_ have a sense of humor."

 

William honestly didn't understand what was so funny, but he was again enchanted by the feel of those lips against his skin, and the other reaper undid his belt and tugged it open.  William arched his back, impulsively rubbing his body against Undertaker's as he began to deftly unfasten his trousers.  He groaned in spite of himself when Undertaker parted the material and eased his erection out of his underwear, exposing the stiffened length to the air.

 

"Mm, very nice, Mr. Spears," approved Undertaker, pausing his kisses to look down at the flesh now bared to his view.  "The question is; do you know how to _use_ this pretty cock?"

 

Now beginning to wonder if he would be expected to perform after all, William tried to keep his tone light.  "Grell doesn't complain."

 

The grin returned, and the silver sweep of lashes partially veiled Undertaker's seductive eyes as they grew heavy-lidded, again.  "Then you must have some skills, to keep that one satisfied.  Perhaps you can give me a demonstration, some time."

 

"I would...like that."  William's breath caught and he jerked reflexively as Undertaker's fingers wrapped around his exposed length, gripping it firmly.  That wasn't what made him jump, however.  The silver reaper traced the tender little opening of his urethra with his thumbnail, provoking a shock of sensation that went clear to William's toes.  He did it again, and William trembled and blurted a litany to God.

 

"I don't think he's listening to you," murmured Undertaker in an amused tone.  He traced Will's lips with his tongue and he stroked up and down the length of his sex, leaving off stimulating the tip, for now.  "Has anyone ever made you scream in bed before, William?"

 

"I can't say that they have," answered William truthfully, his breath shuddering in his lungs.  He'd come close with Grell, and he had to admit the redhead had a way of making him lose his senses quickly.  "Do you...intend to try?"

 

"Yes."  The pearly white teeth nibbled his lips before the mouth withdrew to taste his throat again.

 

"In pleasure?" William gasped hopefully, "or in pain?"

 

"Both."  The black nail again stimulated the slit at the head of his cock, making the organ twitch and causing William to squirm unconsciously.  "That is, unless you wish me to stop."

 

Heavens, did he?  William didn't consider himself a masochist...not the way Grell apparently was.  The sharp jolts of sensation were almost too much to bear, but they were sparking his lust, all the same.  "N-no," he panted.  "Don't stop...please."

 

"That's what I like to hear."  Undertaker pressed little kisses of approval on his lips, and the gentle touch contrasted oddly with the intensity of his touch on Will's erection.  "Shh," he murmured when the dispatch supervisor whimpered in a humiliating manner.  "No complaints, now.  Show me how much you want this."

 

William didn't know how to do that, but he guessed that Undertaker didn't want to hear sounds of distress from him.  He tempered his responses as best he could, holding back noises that sounded like protests as much as possible.  He couldn't keep the moans at bay, though, and they grew louder and more frequent as Undertaker teased the most sensitive parts of his groin, alternating between loving strokes and merciless stimulation.  William's spine began to tingle from it, and when Undertaker's mouth traveled down to lavish attention on his nipples, he thought he might come on the spot. 

 

His companion gripped his erection firmly to prevent it, evidently sensing how close he was.  William hissed in spite of himself when Undertaker bit his left nipple, hard enough to sting and pleasure at once.  He followed up with his tongue, licking the bud and soothing it immediately.  In the back of his mind, William wondered if this was how Grell felt when they coupled.  He employed some similar tactics of punishment and reward with the redhead, though he had to admit that Undertaker seemed to have a better handle on it than he did.  He shuddered again when the thumbnail went back to work, and he bucked his hips helplessly.

 

Undertaker didn't ask if he wanted him to stop, this time.  Apparently satisfied that William would shout his safe word if it became too much for him, the funeral director played with him until all sense of reason left poor William.  Inexperienced with being the recipient of this kind of foreplay, William began to vocalize his pain and pleasure without intending to.  He couldn't hold back the sounds of distress, but they mingled with loud moans of pleasure that pacified his companion.  Undertaker's mouth claimed his again as William started to come, and this time, he allowed it.  He released the brunet's wrists, and William immediately embraced him, pressing his sweating face against Undertaker's chest as he bucked in his hand. 

 

William didn't even recognize the sound of his own voice as his hoarse shouts filled the shop, and he felt a flash of panic as he realized that he had neglected to lock the front door.  Someone could walk in at any time and find him like this, lying on his back on a coffin with his cum-stained suit and pants hanging open.  

 

Undertaker distracted him from that concern with another kiss; this time a slow, loving one that seemed to convey a protective attitude.  "Good boy," approved the older Shinigami huskily, nibbling his lips before kissing him again.  He slowed and stopped his stroking, ignoring the smear of semen painting William's torso as he caressed it.  "Catch your breath, now.  We have as much time as we need."

 

Ordinarily, such pet talk would have annoyed William.  From Undertaker, however, it didn't feel insulting.  It felt strangely gratifying, instead.  He held the other man tight and trembled against him as he caught his breath and regained his senses.  His groin was still throbbing delightfully from the intense stimulation, and he knew it wouldn't take much for this man to put him back into a state of arousal.  He breathed in the spicy scent clinging to Undertaker, loving the feel of him pressed so intimately against his body.  He mouth sought out William's again for another intoxicating kiss, and his hand kept stroking his chest and abdomen with possessive motions, rather like he was petting him.  

 

"Do you want me inside of you, Spears?"  The question was uttered softly, between those lazy kisses. 

 

William didn't even pretend to hesitate.  His barriers were down and he was utterly exposed and vulnerable, now.  "Yes, I want that."

 

Undertaker smiled at him.  Most of his bangs had come free of the pins holding them back, and they dangled over his eyes, now.  "Ask, and ye shall receive."  He winked at him, making his heart skip a beat even though the expression was partly concealed beneath locks of pale hair. 

 

William was _more_ than ready to "receive", and he didn't even mind that he wouldn't be the one on top.  It felt surreal, like a dream come true.   

 

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to prepare yourself for me," explained Undertaker as he balanced on one arm, still caressing William's exposed torso.  "That's the unfortunate part about growing these nails long, I'm afraid.  Had I seen this coming, I might have had the sense to keep them trimmed short for longer."

 

He grinned.  "But then again, perhaps not.  I'd like to see you fingering yourself for me, William."

 

That simple, teasing announcement made William's spent cock stir again.  He never would have considered masturbating or preparing himself that way in front of another person, and he was surprised by how arousing the thought was.  He blamed it on those eyes—even though they were partially hidden, now.  The thought of those eyes looking at him with hot, possessive desire in them was enough to excite him.

 

"I...I've never done that before," he confessed, more worried about performance failure than dignity.

 

Undertaker kissed him again, smiling against his lips.  "My, you really _are_ an innocent in some things, aren't you?  Don't worry, my friend.  I'm quite prepared to teach you what to do.  It's a pity that construction of my new bedroom isn't complete, but this will suffice." 

 

His hand reached for one of William's, and he guided it down to his swelling groin.  "Do you trust me?"  He closed his hand over William's, directing him to grip his own cock.  He squeezed and began to move it, guiding William to stroke the length, up and down.

 

Flushing with embarrassment and excitement, William nodded.  "I trust you." 

 

He let him direct the motions of his hand, and he began to swell more quickly.  Soon, he was fully erect again and he wanted nothing more than to reach into his companion's pants and do the same thing to him.  Some small corner of his mind still retained his inhibitions, but Undertaker had a way of making them seem trivial, and unimportant.  The man dripped sensual appeal and William couldn't even feel embarrassed for what he was going to do to sleep with him. 

 

Unfortunately, William's biggest fear chose that moment to manifest itself in the flesh.  He heard the ring of the bell as the shop door opened, and he turned his head and stared with horror as Ciel Phantomhive—now known as Ciel Dumont—walked in.  For a moment, the exiled Earl's blue gaze locked with William's, and then he looked at the silver-haired man in black on top of him.  William could literally see the comprehension bleed into Ciel's sculpted, youthful features and he couldn't blame him in the least as his jaw dropped and his cheeks visibly flooded with color.

 

In a similar state of blushing himself, William hastily nudged Undertaker's hand away and tried to tuck his swollen package back into his trousers.  "It isn't what it looks like," he lied.

 

Ciel shut his eyes, turned and walked out.  "I'll come back another time," he said.  The door slammed shut behind him—probably not intentionally.

 

"Ah, but William," said Undertaker between snickers, "Why must you fib?  It was _exactly_ what it looked like."

 

 

* * *

 

Sebastian blinked at the sight of his blushing master hurrying back toward the carriage.  He had his head down, and his rapid footsteps quickly carried him across the street.  Ciel was in there for less than a minute.  Surely, he hadn't gotten his information that quickly.  "My lord, what is the matter?" asked the demon butler when Ciel practically plowed into him.

 

"We're leaving now," announced Ciel.  He yanked the door to the cabin open and climbed in before Sebastian could even begin to assist him.

 

Sebastian peered through the carriage window at him, concerned.  "What has you so troubled?"  A thought occurred to him, and his expression darkened.  "Did the Undertaker do something inappropriate?"  The retired reaper had never made advances on Ciel before, but now that he was an adult—and quite an attractive one—the possibility didn't seem completely remote, to Sebastian.

 

"No...and yes," answered Ciel.  "Not to me, but to...never mind.  Just take me home, Sebastian."

 

He was too curious now to obey, immediately.  "Was it a corpse, my lord?"

 

Ciel looked at him, appearing slightly startled.  "Wh-what?"

 

"This inappropriate thing that Undertaker did not do to you.  Was the recipient a corpse?  The hour _is_ rather late and beyond his normal time of business.  Did you walk in on him servicing a cadaver in more ways than one?"  Sebastian began to grin at the increasing look of disgust and shock on Ciel's face.  "I can see by your expression that my deduction is a tad off."

 

"No!"  Ciel grimaced.  "It was nothing like that.  He was with...another Shinigami."

 

Sebastian tilted his head, intrigued.  He could think of at least one reaper that would jump at the chance to bed Undertaker.  "Did this other Shinigami happen to have red hair and a penchant for flirtation?"

 

Ciel shook his head.  "No.  It was Spears."

 

One dark, elegant brow arched.  "William T. Spears?  Engaged in—"

 

"A compromising act, yes," answered Ciel before he could finish.  "Pity I can't wash the sight from my eyes.  Now take me _home_ , Sebastian.  I don't want to think about it any longer!"

 

Sebastian prudently covered his lips with two gloved fingers, hiding his smile of amusement.  "Of course, my lord.  I imagine walking in on your 'reaper uncle' engaging in such a thing must have been a shock."

 

"Didn't I just say I don't want to think about it?"

 

Sebastian bowed gracefully at the waist.  "Yes, my lord.  I shall drive you back to the manor with all haste...and I will do my best to make you forget about what you witnessed, once there."  He winked at the flustered young demon, before doing as instructed and hopping deftly up into the driver's seat.  Chuckling softly under his breath, Sebastian snapped the reins to command the two-horse team into motion.

 

 

* * *

 

"I wonder what young Phantomhive is doing in London," mused Undertaker.  He shrugged.  Given his un-announced visit, he probably had some kind of business in town that required information from him.  He had more important things to think about; such as the handsome, embarrassed reaper lying beneath him.  "Now, where were we?"

 

"I..." William looked genuinely pained.  "Overtime," he sighed unhappily.

 

Disappointed but understanding, Undertaker eased his body off of him.  He absently combed his bangs out of his eyes and he eyed his companion quietly as William sat up and began to straighten his clothes.  The brunet looked up at him guiltily, as if he'd committed some grave offense.

 

"I apologize.  I do want this, but after being walked in on, I doubt I could perform the way you want me to.  I would rather..."  He trailed off uncertainly as Undertaker stepped closer and took a seat on the coffin beside him.

 

"Don't apologize," advised Undertaker.  He began to help him, buttoning his shirt and smoothing the material with a smile.  "There is a reason for the 'safe word', and I would rather you use it than do something you aren't comfortable with.  I prefer my partners to give themselves to me willingly, and completely.  I have no use for hesitation."

 

William looked even more crestfallen—a strange sight to behold, from someone that was usually so aloof and confident.  "As I said, I do want it."

 

Undertaker cupped his chin.  "When you're ready.  I look forward to making you scream, William."

 

William swallowed, and he squirmed uncomfortably, trying to adjust the bulge in his trousers discreetly.  He resumed cleaning himself up and he thanked Undertaker softly when he retrieved a handkerchief from his robes and wiped off the drying mess on his torso, before finishing buttoning up the shirt.  When he was finished, Undertaker pulled back and waited for William to fasten his blazer, before he put his arms around him and drew him close.

 

Whatever William was expecting, a hug probably wasn't it.  Comfort was an important part of Undertaker's routine, though he hadn't really gotten the chance to cause a real need for comfort, yet.  William returned the embrace hesitantly, before relaxing with a sigh and laying his head on Undertaker's shoulder.  The older reaper smiled and stroked his back soothingly, until William started to fall asleep. 

 

"I should probably go," murmured William after nodding off.  He lifted his head from Undertaker's shoulder and he dared to comb his bangs aside, looking into his eyes with a more familiar expression of professional calm on his face.  "I would like to take you out."

 

Undertaker found that hilariously endearing.  "On a date?"

 

William nodded.  "To a film, or a play, or anywhere else you would like to go."

 

"And why would you do that?"

 

William seemed confused by the question.  "Because I happen to like you and enjoy your company, I suppose.  I also believe you need to get out more."

 

Undertaker traced the line of his cheek with a fingernail, wholly entertained by his romantic attempts.  "If it will get me into your trousers faster, then name the day."

 

Taken by surprise by the blunt statement, William stared at him.  "You're a difficult man to predict."

 

Undertaker grinned broadly.  "Isn't that half the fun?"

 

 

* * *

 

William looked away, resisting a smile.  Now he just had to figure out how to tell Grell about this.  He had no doubt in his mind that the redhead would be inordinately pleased to hear he'd nearly fucked Undertaker on a coffin, but William was never comfortable talking about such things.  He just hoped Grell really was sincere about his consent concerning relations with Undertaker.  If he wasn't, then William had just cheated on him.

 

The thought made the brunet frown.

 

 

* * *

 

-To be continued  


	2. Chapter 2

# "Embracing madness"

 

# Chapter 2

 

 

* * *

 

Grell suspected that something must have happened while William was out, given how much time passed.  He was just finishing a cup of tea before bed when Will returned, and the way he was avoiding looking at him as he began to undress was a clear sign.

 

"How was he?" pressed Grell.  He dropped a cube of sugar into the hot beverage and set the tongs aside on the tea tray, sitting on the nightstand.

 

William nodded and dropped his gloves on the dresser.  "He was fine."  He frowned as he removed his blazer, and he revised his answer.  "Well, he wasn't exactly _fine_.  He was unconscious in the basement when I arrived, and his shop door was unlocked."

 

Grell's brows went up.  "I can't wait to hear this."

 

William draped his blazer over the rocking chair in the corner, and he removed his tie.  "There was a chemical reaction of some sort, and the fumes overcame him before he could reach the stairs."

 

Not usually one to worry overly much about others, Grell wound a strand of crimson hair around a finger absently.  "And this was by accident?"

 

William paused in the act of unbuttoning his shirt, and he frowned at him.  "You're suggesting he might have deliberately made a toxic mixture to harm himself?"

 

Grell shrugged and sipped his tea before answering.  "Stranger things have happened, Will.  Far be it from me to turn into a worry wart, but neither of us can say for certain what's going on in that old reaper's head."

 

"He isn't 'old'."

 

Grell smirked.  "Are you deranged?  He's been around since the Dark Ages!  Of course, he's old!"  He winked at him.  "He's still quite a treat to the eyes though, isn't he?  Sexy too, when he isn't drooling or covered head to toe in those robes."

 

William didn't smile.  "He said that he believed someone tried to kill him.  He claimed that someone stuffed a toxic mixture into the body he was examining, and it reacted to the air when he opened the cadaver up."

 

Grell sobered a bit.  "What fool would try to kill him?  He's all but earned immunity from the Association, and anyone who knows him well enough should realize that a few stinky fumes aren't going to do away with him."

 

"That's what concerns me," murmured William, frowning.  His shirt was hanging open, forgotten, and he looked out the window through the partly closed curtain.  "He wouldn't allow me to file a report on his behalf."

 

Grell shrugged his bare shoulders, and he fluffed the pillow he was sitting back against.  "That's no surprise to me.  Undertaker wouldn't want Dispatch nosing around in his shop.  You know he doesn't trust anyone, Will."

 

"Not even us," agreed the brunet with a sigh. 

 

Grell smiled encouragingly at him, catching the wistful note in his tone that most people wouldn't have noticed.  "I think we come closer than anyone to earning his trust.  Come to bed, Will.  If some fool is after Undertaker, I'm sure he's more than capable of taking care of them.  If he tried to kill himself, I'm sure you gave him reason to reconsider."

 

William looked at him, and Grell caught a flash of something that made his brows lift again.  It was unusual for Will to suffer guilt.  "Whatever is the matter?"

 

The stoic, handsome features relaxed into an expression of quiet uncertainty.  "I do hope you meant it, when you said you would 'share me' with Undertaker."

 

Grell nearly dropped his tea in his excitement.  "Oh, Will!  Did you _finally_ do something with him?  Ah...come sit down and tell me!  I want to hear _everything_...absolutely _everything_!  Was he rough with you?  Gentle?"  He saw the fading scratches on his torso and he smirked.  "Oh, I think I have my answer to that question."

 

"Calm down," snapped William, self-consciously rubbing the fading marks on his ribcage.  "You remind me of a schoolgirl fishing for gossip."

 

"Well I can't _help_ that," insisted Grell, squirming restlessly in the bed at the thought of his lover engaged in something scandalous and steamy with Undertaker.  The sheets were rapidly tenting over his crotch.  "Tell me what happened.  I'll have such wonderful dreams tonight, if you do."

 

William unfastened his trousers and he smirked sidelong at him, before bending over to remove his shoes and socks.  "Yes, something happened.  No, I won't give you details, but I can assure you it went no further than touching.  We stopped before it advanced further than that."

 

Grell stared at him, but the effect was wasted on William, because he was too busy with his shoes.  "You _stopped?_ Tch, you really are hopeless.  Why on earth would you stop?  We both know how you've longed for him."

 

"You are like a dog with a bone," muttered the brunet with a grunt.  He pushed his shoes and socks under the chair, and he slipped out of his pants and underwear.  "Suffice to say, I like to be thorough.  If you truly mean it when you say you consent to something further happening between us, I'll pursue it further."

 

Grell's first reaction was to get annoyed with him for treating even _romance_ like work, but one look at his nudity wiped out all thoughts of throttling him.  Grell blushed with aroused approval, his gaze lingering on William's groin and hips as the brunet climbed into bed with him.

 

"How many times do I have to say it?" Grell asked, pulling aside the covers for him.  He put his tea aside and he immediately snuggled up to him once he was settled into the bed, pressing his nudity full-length against William's.  "You and Undertaker have my full approval to ravish one another as often and as thoroughly as you both see fit."

 

William stroked his back, his thoughts carefully hidden behind an emotionless mask again.  He removed both of their glasses and put them carefully on the nightstand.  "One thing at a time.  Now dim the lamp."

 

Grell pouted as he did as directed, twisting the switch on the lamp to dim it.  He lost all interest in the cup of tea.  "Won't you just tell me a teensy little detail?  Is he well-endowed?"

 

William slipped his hand around to Grell's front side and down, letting it travel below the covers until it located his erection.  He gripped it and began to stroke the length of it slowly, his voice a commanding, low caress. 

 

"You have to allow me to take this at my own pace, Grell.  Never mind the details.  If you want to know his…measurements…then you'll have to take them yourself."

 

"Mm, maybe I will," sighed Grell, thoroughly enjoying the massage.  He reached beneath the covers to reciprocate, and he kissed William softly and sensually, taking his time to brush his lips back and forth over his before tracing them with his tongue.  "I do love the way your hands feel on me, Will.  I'm sure the old creeper would agree with me."

 

William sighed.  "I'm going to stop doing this, if you don't stop referring to him in such disrespectful terms."

 

Knowing better than to tease him too far—especially when sexual gratification hung in the balance.  He fondled him lovingly and nuzzled his jaw.  "Please don't stop, Will.  I'll be good."  He sighed with delight as William's stroking resumed, and the tips of their erections rubbed against each other beneath the sheets.

 

"Enough talk," murmured William huskily, and he kissed him, hard enough to cut his lip a bit on one of Grell's sharp teeth.  The tinny flavor of his blood was a predictable turn-on for the redhead, and he temporarily forgot about his curiosity in favor of the pleasures of the now.

 

 

 

* * *

 

The next day, Grell wasn't in quite such a fabulous mood.  He had trouble sleeping, thanks to images of naked William and Undertaker dancing in his head.  He tried counting them like sheep, but all that did was put him into another state of arousal.  William just swatted at him in annoyance when he tried to rouse him from sleep for some late night play, leaving Grell to handle the issue on his own.  He was convinced that William's alarm was as much a sadist as its owner, because it chose to go off not even an hour after he finally got to sleep.  He tried to sleep in longer, but Will reminded him that his hair and makeup wouldn't fix itself, prompting the grumbling redhead to roll out of bed and take care of his looks for the day.

 

It didn't help that Ronald decided to be a smart ass and remark on the dark circles under Grell's eyes, when he joined them for morning coffee before starting the day's work.  The observation led Grell to steal some tea bags from the break room and wear them over his eyes in his office for fifteen minutes.  To make matters worse, William came into his office with paperwork and caught him reclining with the teabags on his eyes—which of course resulted in a lecture about slacking off and a promise that further laziness would result in overtime for him alone, to make up for it.  Grell made a rude but graceful gesture at his lover's back as William exited his office, and the brunet stopped, half-turned and gave him a stern look over his shoulder.

 

"I saw that."

 

Grell pretended to rub at his eye beneath the glasses, inadvertently smearing some of his eyeliner.  "I had something in my eye."

 

The left corner of William's mouth curved ever so slightly.  "Yes, the finger you just stuck up at me.  Now, get to work.  I won't have anyone in this department slowing the rest of us down.  You can nap on your break."

 

Grell was sorely tempted to make a more obvious gesture of resentment, but since becoming an official item with Will, he'd learned that pissing the man off at work could result in a lack of affection at home.  As such, he vented in other ways.  One such way manifested during lunchtime, when he deliberately called his lover "Willikins" in front of their colleagues.  This immediately resulted in William choking on his juice, while Eric and Ronald laughed heartily and Alan solicitously patted Will's back.

 

After a hellish day of fighting the urge to nod off and dealing with more paperwork than any reaper should reasonably be expected to process, Grell decided to pay a visit to the other Shinigami of his fancy.  As the department supervisor, William was stuck working late again and it gave Grell the perfect opportunity to stop by Undertaker's shop to have a few words with him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Undertaker was immediately aware of his presence, before he even stepped out of the alcove at the sound of the door bell.  The scent of roses and spice was quite familiar to him.  Undertaker found him leaning back against his desk when he came out from behind the curtain, and he smiled at him.  Though he couldn't see the fine details, he could appreciate the casually sensual pose Grell was in.  His high-heeled boots were crossed over one another at the ankles, and he flipped his hair a bit in a primping manner when he saw Undertaker emerge. 

 

"Mr. Sutcliff," greeted the funeral director with a bob of his head.  "What a delightful surprise.  I wasn't expecting you or your companion to return for another day, at least."

 

"I couldn't stay away," answered Grell with a mischievous smirk.  He remained where he was, allowing the older reaper to glide over to him.  He shook his vivid hair back from his face and looked up at him as Undertaker stopped before him.  "Why don't you ever wear your glasses, now that you have them back?"

 

"I don't want to get back into the habit," explained Undertaker.  He watched his guest with subtle appreciation, close enough now to see more details of his appearance.  He took one of Grell's hands in his, and he brought it to his smiling mouth to kiss the top of it.  "I don't need my glasses to appreciate the scent and beauty of a rose."

 

Grell hummed with delight, his fair features gaining a charming blush along the sculpted cheekbones.  "You flatter me.  Careful, or my head might swell."

 

Undertaker chuckled.  "Should I stop, then?"

 

"Bite your tongue."  Grell smiled broadly at him, displaying rows of gleaming, sharp teeth.  "I love to be flattered."

 

"Then perhaps you should bite my tongue for me," suggested Undertaker, subtly looming closer to him.  "I haven't your talent for it, you see."

 

Grell reached up with one hand to remove the top hat on Undertaker's head.  He dropped it on the desk, and he pushed his fingers through the long fringe of ash-pale hair concealing the older reaper's eyes.

 

"Let's see these beauties, first," insisted Grell breathlessly, and he smiled when he combed the hair aside and could see the rest of Undertaker's face.  "If there were one rule I could make for our arrangement, it would be that you never hide these eyes from us."

 

Undertaker traced the curve of the redhead's soft, tempting lips with a fingernail.  "I never could refuse a lady's request."

 

He lowered his mouth to Grell's then, sampling those lips with his own.  He slid his tongue between them when they parted, and he delighted in the sting when Grell bit down enough to draw blood.  Knowing what he liked, he ran his tongue over the flat side of those angled teeth, smearing his own blood over them before delving in deeper to lay claim to the moist recesses of his mouth.  Grell threaded the fingers of both hands through his hair and he moaned with need.  The sound was lost in Undertaker's mouth as the older Shinigami continued to kiss him with seductive tact. 

 

Undertaker slid his hands over Grell's lean arms, gripping and massaging on the way down.  He pressed a knee between his thighs to urge them to part and when they did, he situated his hips between them.  He put his hands on Grell's waist and lifted him onto the desk, planting his firm little bottom right on top of the ledger he'd been writing on, moments before he showed up. 

 

"So light," he approved between kisses.  He took his mouth off Grell's and he worked his way to his throat.  Where Spears was solid, refined and masculine, Grell was graceful, passionate and almost delicate. 

 

Grell toyed with the beads hanging around Undertaker's throat, his breath heavy with arousal.  His thighs hugged the taller Shinigami's waist and he made a sound between a sigh and a whimper when Undertaker undid a few buttons of his shirt and kissed his collarbone.  Feeling the response he was getting when it ground against his own arousal through their garments, Undertaker remembered their bargain.  He gave the redhead a pained grin as he backed off.

 

"I think I should like to be buried in salt again," he sighed, stroking the glorious red hair.  "It was more comfortable than this waiting."

 

Grell squirmed sympathetically, grinning.  "I know that it's frustrating."  He gave Undertaker a squeeze with his thighs that made his breath expel a bit, teasing him.  His right hand slid down the silver Shinigami's chest to his stomach, settling on the belt of lockets around his narrow waist.  "I would love nothing more than to tear these...curtains off of you and beg you to take me, right here on this desk.  William gets you first, though."

 

Undertaker laughed softly, cupping the redhead's hips to pull him even closer.  He deliberately rocked against him, invoking another little moan of desire.  "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had relations with another person?  I think I might soon qualify as a virgin again."

 

Grell clucked his tongue, his voice quivering with a combination of amusement and arousal.  "Now, don't be so dramatic.  You are not the only one suffering."

 

Undertaker arched a thin, silvery brow.  "I'm sure all of the sex you're having with dear William makes your frustration just a bit easier, love."

 

 

 

* * *

 

Grell ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to think of an argument for that.  The faint aftertaste of Undertaker's blood wasn't helping his restlessness.  There was something undeniably sensual about the elder, once a body got past the creepy exterior.  Greatly daring, Grell toyed with the locket chain belt, and he gazed into the Undertaker's heavy-lashed eyes.

 

"What if I give you some relief now?" He spoke softly, using his most seductive tone of voice.  "We don't have to do anything else.  I could just…taste you."

 

Undertaker's white teeth flashed in a smile, and he shook his head and dropped a hand over the one slowly trying to drift down to fondle the jewels beneath his belt of keepsakes.  His hair dropped down over his eyes again with his motions, and he caught Grell's hand in a hold that was somehow both firm and gentle.

 

"It wouldn't end with you tasting me, I'm afraid," promised Undertaker in a whisper.  "The moment I feel those lips around me, I'm afraid I won't be able to resist tossing you over this desk and having you.  I was barely able to resist doing the same to your charmingly sober lover, last night."

 

"Ah, William."  Grell sighed dreamily, allowing Undertaker to hold his hand.  He threaded his fingers through the older Shinigami's, and he nuzzled his throat, tracing the scar winding around it with his lips.  "He wouldn't tell me what happened.  Please don't be as cruel.  I would dearly love to know."

 

Undertaker chuckled and squeezed his hand, whilst stroking his hair with the other.  "What happened, sweet rose, is that our time together got interrupted before I could finish.  A customer walked in through my carelessly unlocked door, and dear William was naturally disinclined to commence with the snogging, after that."

 

Grell burst into giggles, finding Undertaker's description of the event just as hilarious as the image in his head.  "Poor Will," he snickered, curling the fingers of his free hand around the solitary braid blending in with Undertaker's long, silver mane.  He stroked it absently, letting it slip through his thumb and forefinger as he laid his head against the taller reaper's chest.  Undertaker was chuckling as well, and the vibrations were soothing against Grell's cheek.  He looked up at his companion and cleared his throat, struggling to control his laughter enough to speak coherently.

 

"Well, how far did you two get before you were interrupted?"

 

Undertaker considered the question, his chuckles dying down.  Grell felt him throb against his thigh between the barrier of their clothing and he squeezed his hand, wishing like hell he would let him have a feel of his endowments. 

 

"I'd say he was ripe for the taking," answered the older Shinigami after some thought.  "He was ready to give himself to me.  Earl Phantomhive…er…that is, Lord Dumont came in just as we were ready to make final preparations.  Hmm, that reminds me, I should try to contact him and find out what he wa—"

 

"He was here?" interrupted Grell with a frown.  "Was Sebby with him?"

 

Undertaker gave him a dry look.  "When has his butler ever been far behind?"

 

"Damn," sighed Grell.  "I missed them.  I had no idea they were in London."

 

Undertaker cupped his chin, his long nails lightly pressing into his skin.  "I thought you were over Michaelis."

 

"Oh, don't _you_ start on me too," huffed the redhead.  He turned his face and nipped at Undertaker's palm, making him withdraw his hand reflexively.  "Just because I still like to look at him doesn't mean I have intentions of sleeping with him again.  I've got the two of you, now."

 

Grell caught hold of the hand that had just pulled away from him, and he playfully licked the little scar ringing the pinky.  He rotated the golden band worn on Undertaker's pointer finger, and then he sucked on the digit teasingly, scraping his teeth lightly against the pad of it.

 

"You really are in a mind for trouble, my dear," warned the older reaper huskily, his smile turning sensual.  He withdrew his finger from Grell's mouth, and he stepped away from him with a little bow.  "I keep my promises.  Please don't tempt me any further."

 

Recognizing the careful control hidden within that statement, Grell thought better of pressing him for more intimacy.  A certain demon butler had taught him a few painful lessons about pushing certain types of people, and amongst those types were Sebastian himself, William and Undertaker.  Instead, he brought up another point of interest that had been nagging his mind since last night.

 

"William said he found you passed out in the basement."  Grell's face took on an unusually sober expression.  "You told him it was caused by fumes planted in a body by someone else."

 

Undertaker nodded.   "I did.  What of it?"

 

Grell kept his gaze steady on him.  "Was it really someone else?"

 

Undertaker stared at him, parted his lips to speak, and then seemed to reconsider it.  He shrugged.  The long sleeves of his black garments had slipped down over his hands again and they flapped with the motion.  "You caught me.  I told your William a little fib, so that he wouldn't worry.  For someone so cool and collected, he can be an awful worry wart."

 

Grell snorted.  "No need to tell me that!  But what really happened, if someone didn't try to poison you?"

 

"I made a mistake."

 

When Grell stared at him, the funeral director began to laugh.  "What?  You don't think I’m capable of making an error in judgment when I'm working?  I was tired, and I wasn't paying close enough attention to my apothecary usage.  I spilled a bit while I was working over my newest client, and some of it mixed with the wrong chemical and caused a reaction.  I didn't quite make it to the stairs before I passed out from inhaling it."

 

"Well, why ever didn't you just tell him that?" demanded Grell in a puzzled voice.  "You have him convinced someone tried to murder you, or else you were trying to join your patrons in the grave."

 

Undertaker looked up from the locket he was examining on his belt, and he somehow managed to look charmingly bashful for a brief moment.  "To tell you the truth, I was embarrassed.  What sort of funeral director accidentally poisons himself on the job, and what sort of reaper keeps breathing when he knows he's just taking in toxic fumes?  It was a piss-poor demonstration of skill and sense, on my part."

 

Grell could understand that, and he found Undertaker's mortification all too cute.  He smiled at him.  "We can't have William thinking you're any more of a danger to yourself than you already are, can we?  I will keep it to myself, you sexy spook."

 

"I appreciate your discretion."  Undertaker smiled at him again.  "And I promise, I wasn't trying to end my own life.  Both of you need to stop fretting over that."

 

"Believe me, I'd like to," complained Grell.  He hopped down from the desk, and he straightened his bow tie.  "I can't relax while Will is so tense, though, even if I don't think you'll travel the same road lesser reapers have traveled before."

 

"' _Lesser reapers'_?"  Undertaker's smile was quietly amused, but flattered.  "I'm no more or less a reaper than they were.  I am simply retired."

 

"You know what I mean."  Grell tucked some wayward locks of hair behind an ear, trying to downplay his praise.  "You aren't weak, like they were.  I keep trying to remind William of that fact, but he can't seem to help worrying over you.  He tries to hide it, but it's so obvious to me."

 

Undertaker nodded.  "Your William is a considerate chap, under it all."

 

Grell snorted again.  "Pardon me, that wasn't very lady-like."  He cleared his throat.  "My ice prince isn't 'considerate', he's practical."

 

"I think you're wrong about that."  Undertaker's teasing grin returned.  "Doesn't he hold doors open for you?  Bring you flowers?  Give you little gifts to remind you of his affection?"

 

Grell blushed, recalling the gorgeous red roses William had brought home for him just the other night.  "Well, yes, but he's a gentleman.  So are you, for that matter.  You both know how to make a lady feel wanted, when you aren't being insufferable cock teases."

 

Undertaker tossed his head back and guffawed at that.  "'Insufferable cock teases'," he cackled, slapping his thigh with amusement.  "Ah, you do entertain me, Grell."  He lowered his head and watched him, his eyes flashing behind the concealing fringe of his bangs as he softened his laughter.  "I don't mean to tease your cock, though.  Not yet, at least."

 

Undertaker leaned in, looming over Grell so suddenly that the redhead felt a little thrill of both danger and excitement.  The smiling mouth was only inches from his, and Grell puckered up on impulse.  Unfortunately, Undertaker wasn't leaning in for a kiss.  He retrieved his hat from behind Grell on the desk, and he put it on his head.

 

"Stop worrying," Undertaker said as he backed away.  He took one of Grell's hands in his and he kissed it again.  "I'll be more careful in the lab."

 

"You'd better be," said Grell, a little breathlessly.  The way the man seemed to glide like a ghost was a subject of fascination for him, even though it creeped him out, sometimes.  "And don't loom like that unless you intend to make good on it, from now on."

 

"Loom?" repeated Undertaker innocently.

 

"You know, that swooping thing that you—"

 

Before he could finish saying it, Grell got another demonstration.  Undertaker's face was again only inches away, and he had one arm around his waist to keep him from leaning back too far as he impulsively recoiled. 

 

"You mean like this?"  The older reaper's mouth covered his without warning, before he could respond, and Grell melted and put his arms around him.  Their tongues danced against each other for several moments, with Undertaker's dominating Grell's, until the redhead was weak in the knees and ready to tear their clothes off.  

 

"Oh, you sadistic bastard," gasped Grell in frustration when Undertaker suddenly released him and retreated again.  "I have my limits too, you know!  Do that again and maybe _I'll_ be having _you_ on this desk!"

 

Undertaker cackled in delight and crossed his arms.  "I'd like to see you try, little cardinal.  It would be an entertaining effort on your part, at least."

 

Grell rolled his eyes.  Arrogance…even Undertaker had some.  Sadly, he was probably right.  In a contest of brute strength, Grell was woefully overmatched by the men in his life.  "Are you quite finished?"

 

"For now," agreed Undertaker.  Grell couldn't be sure with the hair covering his eyes, but he thought he winked at him.  "You should run along home to your handsome supervisor.  I'm sure he'll see to your needs in my place.  I'll keep that image in my head tonight, as I lay in my coffin all alone."

 

Grell grimaced at the forlorn little sigh that Undertaker heaved, but he couldn't satisfy his lust until he was sure the dynamic between the three of them would work out.  That was why it was so important that William be the first.  He was the one that ultimately needed convincing that the three of them could work together. 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Once Grell was gone, Undertaker's smile faded.  He looked toward the curtains leading to the back of the shop, and he sighed.  He still had some final touches to make on the young lady that had served as a mule for the poisonous chemicals he'd succumbed to, yesterday.  Fibbing to Grell was an impulsive choice on his part, because he had a feeling in his bones that the truth was more dangerous than the lie, with that one.  Oh, Grell would let it go for a little while…until the next attempt happened, and the next after that.  It wasn't the first time someone had attempted to harm him or his shop this year, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

 

"Much as I'd enjoy watching you saw them in half," he muttered to the now absent redhead, "I will handle this on my own."

 

He flipped his sleeves back and steepled his hands, tapping his nails together.  He had an idea of who the culprit was now, but he needed to be certain.  Once he got his confirmation, he would weigh the value of satisfaction over the risk of becoming a fugitive, like Dedrich.

 

 

 

* * *

 

"Where were you?"

 

Grell jumped a little, startled by the abrupt question.  He gave his lover an exasperated look.  "Give me half a chance to get through the door, Will."  He set down the bags he'd procured on the way back.  One thing in particular had caught his eye as he passed by a gentlemen's clothing shop, and he couldn't resist.  "I did some shopping, of course.  I picked up a little something for you, too."

 

Grell dug out a small box and he tossed it at yon dapper brunet standing in the living room.  William nearly dropped the cup of tea in his hand as he reached out to catch it, but he managed to avoid spilling a single drop.  He shot Grell a suspicious look, before setting his teacup on the saucer sitting on the coffee table.

 

"What is this?"

 

Grinning at him, Grell shut and locked the door behind him, before walking over the polished floor to sit down on the Chesterfield sofa beside him.  The interior of the London apartment was much like William himself; stylish, masculine and orderly, all at once.  "Just open it."

 

William cast another glance his way, before carefully opening the box and lifting out the jewelry container.  He looked even more nervous, and Grell fought a snicker.

 

"Oh, relax," he chastised.  "I'm not proposing to you.  Open the damned thing, already."

 

William had the grace to look somewhat abashed of his own behavior, and he flipped the lid of the case up to look inside.  His expression relaxed and his green-yellow eyes softened with surprise.  "New cuff links."

 

Grell nodded with enthusiasm, settling a hand on his knee to give it a gentle squeeze.  "Mm-hmm.  I recall you lost your favorite pair at the company holiday party, last year.  I saw those and I thought they were perfect for you.  So, do you like them, Will?" 

 

Grell blushed and watched him hopefully as he picked up one of the silver, mother of pearl inlaid cufflinks.  He'd chosen them because they were simple, yet sharp and elegant.  The narrowed eyes studied the item quietly for a moment, turning it over between gloved fingers.  William looked at him, and he replaced the link back in its case with its sister.  He closed the case and put it on the coffee table, before resting a hand over the one squeezing his knee.

 

"And here I thought you couldn't grasp my sense of fashion."  He caressed Grell's cheek with his free hand, then cupped the back of his head to draw him close for a kiss.  "They suit my taste exactly, Grell."

 

Grell was grinning happily.  "You really like them?"

 

"Have I ever been known to lie to spare your feelings?" Challenged William.

 

"Not in all the time I've known you."  Grell relaxed, and he combed his fingers through the brunet's short-groomed, side-parted hairstyle.  "You're always bringing me small things, so I thought I might pick something nice up for you.  Oh, and about that…no more chocolates for a while.  They're going straight to my hips, and my favorite trousers are getting a bit tight."

 

Will's mouth twitched.  "Understood.  Then can I take this to mean you're in a better mood?"

 

Remembering how cranky he'd been at work, Grell shrugged.  He tactfully maneuvered himself onto William's lap, putting his arms around his neck.  "I'm still annoyed with you for riding my ass today, yes.  I've grown accustomed to it, though.  I know how you can make it up to me."  He leered at the brunet, and then he licked the side of his face.

 

"Stop that," ordered William—though Grell could feel his immediate reaction pushing against the bottom of his thighs.  "This licking habit of yours needs to be curbed."

 

Grell chuckled, and he tongued the rim of William's ear, making him shiver.  "Then maybe I need another lesson, hmm?"

 

One of William's hands settled on Grell's ass, giving it a little squeeze.  "After dinner," he promised.  "I thought I'd actually cook tonight, since you can't seem to do it without catching the kitchen on fire.  We've been eating out too much."

 

Grell pouted and sighed, allowing the other man to set him aside on the sofa.  "It isn't as though I don't _try_ Will.  Cooking has never come naturally to me.  I can assist you in the kitchen, though."

 

William glanced at the case sitting on the coffee table.  "That won't be necessary.  Consider it a display of gratitude for the gift.  Relax, have some tea and read something while I make dinner.  Draw yourself a bubble bath, if you like.  It won't be ready for an hour or so."

 

Grell stretched with delight, arching his back like a cat.  "That sounds heavenly.  I may just take you up on that bath idea, my love."

 

William got up and started for the archway leading to the dining area and connected kitchen, but he paused and looked back at Grell.  "I've…decided to take Undertaker out on a date, this weekend.  I meant to say something last night, but I was distracted."

 

Grell smirked at him, amused by the subtle uncertainty in his eyes.  "Worried I might get jealous?  Don't be.  I know I'll get my turn for another date with you soon.  Where do you plan to take him?"

 

William lowered his gaze in thought.  "There will be a Mozart production at the opera house, Saturday night.  'The magic flute'.  I thought I'd take him to see it."

 

Grell winced.

 

"What?" demanded William with a frown.

 

"Nothing," Grell said hastily, not wanting to dash his confidence.

 

"You pulled a face," insisted William.  "What's the matter with my plans?  You obviously see a flaw in them."

 

Grell sighed.  Honestly, Undertaker was probably ready to sit through just about anything, if it would end up in sex.  He didn't want him thinking he could never have fun with William except in the bedroom, though. 

 

"Well, it's Undertaker," reminded Grell, "and you're considering taking him to see a Mozart opera—one that happens to be in German.  Mozart was from Vienna, just like Fischer.  I think you might rub some salt into the wound by taking him to that production, first and foremost."

 

William immediately appeared crestfallen.  "Oh.  I honestly hadn't considered that."

 

Grell took pity on him.  Being sensitive wasn't one of Will's strong points.  "You need to consider who it is you're trying to romance, Will.  You know the sort of things he likes, by now.  I'd say you could take him to an execution, but I don't know that there are any hangings scheduled for the weekend."

 

"That isn't exactly my idea of a romantic date."  William bore a faintly alarmed expression at the prospect, and Grell had to fight laughter at his expense.

 

"Oh, very well.  Maybe that was a bit over the top."  Grell nibbled his lower lip delicately in thought.  "Maybe you could start with something more simple.  Take him to a comedy play.  One of the smaller theaters in the city is bound to have some appropriate production running.  You could take him to eat, and to the theater afterwards.  You know he enjoys having a drink at the pub, so take him to one of the more casual ones for a nightcap, afterwards.  None of it should be _too_ fancy, though.  Remember, his wardrobe is somewhat dated, so keep it in mind before you choose some place with an expensive dress code.  Will, what are you doing?"

 

William had procured the small stationary pad he kept in his blazer, along with his customized pen.  "I'm writing this all down," he said—quite seriously.

 

Grell tried not to laugh at him, he really did.  Unfortunately, the sight of his dashing, stoic William dutifully writing down his suggestions like a student taking notes proved to be too much for him.  He fell onto his side on the sofa, laughing heartily.  Not even William's glare could spoil his amusement.

 

"Ah, Will," he chuckled, struggling back into a sitting position.  "It isn't an assignment, it's a date!  Just take him to eat and to a show, and be yourself.  Is it really that complicated?"

 

William compressed his lips and put the stationary away.  "Stop laughing at me."

 

Grell cleared his throat, realizing his lover was truly offended by his amusement.  "Don't be mad.  It's just…adorable.  You're so blasted thorough with _everything_.  How could he _not_ fall in love with you, if you put this much effort into pleasing him?"

 

Pacified by that last, affectionate line, William relaxed a bit.  His cheeks were coloring somewhat as he looked away.  "It's different, with him.  You and I have known each other since training, but until recently, I only knew Undertaker through Shinigami history and legends.  I just want it to be perfect."

 

Grell sobered further, and he got up from the sofa to cross the room.  He put his arms around William and looked up at him, still shorter than him even in high-heeled boots.  "I know.  Let me comfort you with a bit of truth though, Spears: I have never known you to perform less than perfectly, when you really want to.  You have nothing to worry about."

 

William blushed deeper, his gaze meeting Grell's.  He didn't say anything, but he reached out to straighten the redhead's glasses in a subtly affectionate manner.  Grell smiled at him and drew him down for a kiss.

 

 

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week passed by slowly for Undertaker.  Grell visited him again on Wednesday as scheduled and warned him to be nice to William when he took him out Saturday.  Undertaker was quite tickled to hear that the poor chap was so nervous about their approaching date that he'd actually taken notes when Grell made some suggestions to him.

 

"He's really trying," Grell told him, "so don't make fun of him."

 

Undertaker could have told him that he was beyond the point of making fun of anyone.  As charming as he found William's efforts and Grell's antics, he was at a point in his life where he desired more company of the living variety.  Contrary to the beliefs of some, he wasn't interested in fucking corpses and his hand was a poor substitute for a real lover.  He didn't tell either of his love interests how much he actually looked forward to their little visits during the week—and not only for the delightful kisses and touches.

 

Not one to give away his true thoughts easily, Undertaker assured Grell that he would show William proper gratitude for his efforts, and he sent him on his way with a passionate kiss, a grope and a smile. 

 

Left alone to his own devices again, he resumed his business and stayed alert for any further attempts to harm him.  He finally got word from Sebastian Michaelis on Thursday, and he learned that Ciel had come to ask him for a favor concerning the Lady Middleford, while they were in London on other business.  Since Ciel couldn't attend her upcoming wedding himself, he wanted Undertaker to bring his wedding gift to her.  He didn't trust the delivery services available to him, and he worried that the Phantomhive servants might give something away to Lizzy by accident.  He wasn't taking any chances with his identity.

 

Undertaker was happy to do this favor for them, and Ciel had apparently anticipated that he would turn down monetary reward, so he instead offered to cover the cost of any supplies or personal needs Undertaker might have, up to a specified amount.  He was getting quite a bit done with his shop and his belongings, out of the pockets of others.  Undertaker preferred it that way, though he admittedly carried _some_ legal tender on him for little things like having a drink at the pub now and then. 

 

Of course, there was no mention of the encounter that Ciel had inadvertently walked in on earlier in the week.  Sebastian was too polite to say anything, but during the conversation, Undertaker thought he detected a cheeky note in his voice.  He was sure of it when the butler casually asked that he give his regards to William T. Spears, and Undertaker laughed heartily with amusement, promising that he would relay the message. 

 

Later that afternoon, package was delivered to his doorstep from his favorite apothecary shop on the other side of town, and he noticed an unusual dusting of powder inside when he opened it to examine the contents.

 

"Hmph, that's interesting," he muttered to himself.  "I haven't placed any orders yet, this month." 

 

He deliberately stopped breathing, reminded of the last time he had an encounter with suspicious chemical compounds.  Aside from the powder, the contents of the box appeared to be the usual items he tended to order from the company.  There was Arsenic for embalming mixtures, a bottle of opiates and acetyl-salicylic acid for those occasions where Undertaker accidentally hurt himself or suffered headaches from working too late, some Calendula and other various, dried herbs—including his licorice for his favorite tea drinks.

 

_~So, what do we have here?~_

He couldn't identify the powder in this light, without visual aid.  He set the box on his instrument table and he shined the light on it, before reaching into an inner pocket for the case housing his glasses.  He didn't examine the powder more closely right away.  Instead, he put on his rubber surgical gloves and he cut open the envelope that came with the package, using tweezers and a scalpel. 

 

 _~Someone might accuse me of being paranoid, if they saw me now.~_   He smirked as he withdrew the folded paper and set it out on the table, next to the box.  _~But if I don't investigate every suspicious thing that comes to my door, I won't discover the truth anytime soon.~_

He wasn't worried about the construction workers that spent most of the morning altering his back room.  His troubles began before he returned from Paris.  The person responsible for the break-in while he was away, the gas leak he'd managed to detect before lighting any flames and the booby-trapped cadaver was not going to try to get to him through the architects building his bedroom.  There was a definite pattern, and it revolved around chemistry. 

 

He got the paper opened, and he read the scratchy handwriting with interest.  It was a complimentary delivery, according to the note.  The Barbers' apothecary supplier wanted to thank him for years of patronage with a free selection of the most common items he tended to order from them.

 

Undertaker looked at the grey-white powder dusting the interior of the box, and he wondered if it could simply be a coincidence.  Maybe one of the containers wasn't sealed tightly enough and the pack got shaken during delivery.  There was both arsenic and talc powder included in the selection, after all, and the color was a near match for both of them.  He reached out and wiped a gloved finger along the interior surface of the box, and he brought the powdered finger to the light.  Now thoroughly curious to find out the truth, he decided to fully analyze the powder.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Nearly a half an hour later, he was able to identify the substance, and he was glad that he'd remembered not to breathe when he found it.  It wasn't talc or arsenic or any other product included in the box.  Someone had ground up water hemlock seeds into a fine powder.  The conium alkaloids were highly toxic and volatile, and they could cause a reaction if inhaled.  It wouldn't have been as deadly as the chemical mixture he'd been exposed to before, but if he were human, it might have made him very ill and eventually killed him.

 

He examined the accompanying note again and when he recognized the signature on it, he smiled.  He was right; it was a rival, not someone from the Shinigami Society trying to get rid of him, and not some demon or witch.  This person was human, a member of the apothecary society, and a fellow funeral director who worked on the other side of town.  His family owned a share of the suppliers Undertaker used, and he obviously had no idea who or what he was dealing with.  Undertaker cleaned up the poisonous powder and when he resumed breathing, he lifted the note to speak with it as though it were a person.

 

"I'd wager you weren't counting on me figuring it out, Mr. Marlow.  After all, only a select few in this city know I'm not as absent-minded as I act.  The Yard wouldn't be likely to trace it back to you, either.  They'd have written it off as an eccentric corpse shuffler having an unfortunate accident on the job.  They probably wouldn't even bother looking into the possibility of foul play.  Who would have a reason to kill the likes of me, anyway?"

 

Undertaker began to laugh.  It started out as a low, breathy sound and it grew in volume and pitch until it became a full-fledged, mad cackle.  He had to be sure beyond a doubt, of course, but if he wasn't mistaken, he knew just what he wanted to do to repay Edward Marlow.  He had the supplies and tools that he needed for it, too.

 

 

 

* * *

 

"Edward, are you coming to bed?"

 

The middle aged, portly man ran a hand over his balding scalp, looking away from the window at his wife's call.  "In a moment, dear.  I thought I heard a noise outside."

 

"It was just that alley cat that's been rummaging around in the garbage," she insisted.  "Now come to bed!  It's going to be the witching hour soon and you have work in the morning!"

 

All too aware of said work and the fact that his business had been steadily declining for months, he grimaced.  He started to shut the curtains to block out the view of the yard and the street, when he saw something black and billowing pass by it.  He thought he saw a glimpse of white too, and he jumped. 

 

"That weren't no cat," he muttered. 

 

He dimmed the little lamp near the window, and he sidled over to the fireplace to reach for the poker.  He cursed as he stubbed his toe on the armchair near the hearth and he hopped in place a little.  Regaining his balance, he crept back over to the window where he'd seen the motion, leaning up against the wall to stay out of sight of anyone outside.  He carefully pushed the curtain a bit to look again.  He didn't see anything, and he sighed, grimacing at the poker in his hand.

 

"My imagination," he decided.

 

He lowered the makeshift weapon, and moved away from the wall, intending to put the poker back on the fireplace and head to the bedroom.  He glanced at the window again and he froze, his eyes going wide and his heart lurching in his chest.  There was a face staring in at him from the darkness; but not just _any_ face.  It was hooded and blanched white, with unearthly green eyes peering out from black eye sockets.  It was a skull, and it was grinning hugely at him, displaying perfectly straight, white teeth. 

 

Edward yelled and stumbled back, falling over the sofa in his blind haste.  He rolled over the top of it and he crashed to the floor on the other side, banging his elbow painfully on the hardwood floor.  There was the sound of footsteps rapidly thumping on the floor from the hallway and his wife soon stood over him, looking alarmed as she knelt at his side.

 

"What's all the shouting for?" she demanded, helping him to his feet.  "You're as pale as a ghost!"

 

He scrambled for the poker again, his eyes wild and staring on the window where he'd seen the death's head staring in at him.  "Don't go near it," he called when his wife followed his gaze in confusion and started to go have a look.  "Something is out there!"

 

She gave him an exasperated look.  "Ed, might be you could use a day or two off work.  You've been stretching yourself too thin, and I think it's bothering your mental state and making you see things."

 

"I'm telling you, woman, there's something out there!"  He gestured at the window with the poker.

 

She put her hands on her hips.  "What, then?  What's out there?"

 

He hesitated.  "I…it was a person.  His face looked like a skull, though."

 

She practically rolled her eyes.  "Would you _listen_ to yourself?  I know what you saw, if there's even someone out there.  It was some bloke playing a prank.  Someone ought to tell those young hooligans that Halloween is over with!  Now forget this nonsense and come to bed.  Bring the poker with you, if it will make you feel better."

 

"Don't nag me," he snapped, putting a hand to his chest.  He was already beginning to doubt himself, though.  He'd only seen it for a split second, and there was lightning dancing in the clouds over the city.  It might have only been a reflection, or a trick of the light.  He was on edge.  Maybe all he needed was a good night's sleep—if he could even _go_ to sleep, after that.

 

 

 

* * *

 

He was still awake nearly an hour later, while his wife lay blissfully mumbling in her sleep beside him.  He stared up at the ceiling, watching the patterns flicker over it as the lightning flashed outside.  He was going to need to urinate, soon.  Childishly, he didn't really want to get out of bed and traverse the dark corridor alone to the bathroom.  He ordinarily didn't need a lantern to know where he was going in his own house, but every shadow seemed menacing to him, now.

 

"Best get it over with," he decided in a whisper. 

 

There was a brilliant flash of lightning outside at that moment, followed by a boom of thunder that shook the very foundations of the house.  While he blinked in the aftermath, the shadows in the room seemed to coagulate, coming together like smoke and solidifying before his very eyes.  He stared in horror as a tall, dark form took shape and stood over his bedside, draped in hooded robes.  Long, pale hair spilled out from beneath the hood, and all he could see of the face within the shadowed depths were the strange, luminescent eyes.  He realized they weren't just green; they had a band of yellow surrounding the outside.  They weren't human eyes, for certain. 

 

A milder flash of lightning briefly lit up the room, long enough for him to see the skull features of the figure.  The light glinted off the crescent blade of a huge scythe, and Edward began to holler at the top of his lungs.  His wife was immediately roused from sleep by his cries, and she called out to him in confusion.

 

"Ed!  What is it?"

 

"D-D-Death!"  He pointed fearfully and he cringed as the grinning aberration loomed over him and began to lower the sharp, skull-capped crescent blade of his scythe.  "No…please!  I d-didn't mean to!  Don't take me!"

 

"Edward, there's _nothing there_!"  His wife began to flail around for the lamp, alarmed by his terrified yells and confused. 

 

Her announcement that she couldn't see the threat that so clearly stood above them was proof that he was either going completely mad, or he was really seeing the Grim Reaper in his bedroom.  Edward screamed like a woman as the point of the scythe touched his stomach and pierced it shallowly.  It wasn't a deep puncture, but he felt like his very life force was being drawn out of him.  He sobbed and tried to squirm away, but his muscles wouldn't obey him.  The cold, alien eyes stared down at him without expression.

 

There was a little click, and suddenly the bedroom was bathed in soft lamplight.  The reaper vanished as if he'd never been, leaving the terrified funeral director cowering in his bed, while his wife shook him urgently and tried to talk sense into him, he looked this way and that.  He finally calmed down when there was no further sign of his unexpected guest, and he closed his eyes and put his sweating face in his palms.

 

"Nightmare," he excused, his voice muffled in his palms. 

 

"Ed…you're bleeding."

 

He took his palms away from his face, aware now of the sting in his belly and the dampness spreading over his nightshirt.  There was also dampness elsewhere, and as he looked down to tug his shirt open to investigate the cut, he came to another realization, as well.

 

He no longer needed to go to the toilet.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Undertaker waited until he was a block away and between a pair of shop buildings, before allowing his psychic cloak to drop.  He was giggling uncontrollably under his breath, and he tugged the concealing hood down to bear his silver head and painted face. 

 

"I haven't had that much fun in ages!"  He wished there was someone around to share it with, but he sincerely doubted Spears would have appreciated the prank and Grell probably would have insisted on reaping the man completely, if he knew he was the top suspect in the recent attempts on Undertaker's life.

 

"Okay, calm down, old boy," Undertaker gasped to himself, fighting back his snickers.  He wasn't as practiced at cloaking his presence from mortals as he used to be, and his little vanishing act back there had taken more effort than a gradual cloaking.  The fit of giggles wasn't making it any easier to catch his breath.  It took several moments for them to die down enough for him to take a deep breath, and his sides were aching from his laughter.  He wiped a bit of drool away from his mouth with his sleeve, and he caught his breath.

 

"Oh, I think I cracked a rib," he complained—and that just made him recall the reason he'd laughed so hard, and the hilarity overwhelmed him all over again.  He fell onto his side in the alley, slapping a hand against the cobbles as he laughed it out. 

 

The only thing that sobered him was the sound of an approaching police patrol.  Too late, he remembered that London was patrolled at all hours by the law these days, and he looked up to see the lights of two lanterns bobbing toward him from the main street.

 

"You there!  What're you about?"

 

Well, there was no way in Purgatory that he was going to be able to wipe away the face paint in time, and he couldn't concentrate enough at the moment to "vanish" from the human's sight.  He climbed to his feet, thankful that he'd thought to banish his scythe before leaving the Marlow house.  He couldn't see the expressions on their faces, but the swinging lanterns hesitated when the light fell on his face and tall form. 

 

"Gentlemen," he called, trying to sound respectable, "I've just drank a bit too much and I—"

 

"What's wrong with your face?"  Interrupted one of them.

 

Undertaker lost it, then.  He started to chuckle, and he shook his head.  "Bugger…I can't…I just can't.  H-have a good evening, gents."

 

With that said, he whirled and took off down the alley, his robes and cloak whipping out behind him and his insane laughter bouncing off the walls of the buildings.  He heard them yell for him to stop, heard them blow their whistles for help, and a part of him stepped back and asked himself what in hells he thought he was doing.

 

"I haven't the foggiest," admitted the snickering reaper to himself. 

 

But what else was he supposed to do?  Reap the coppers?  Explain to them that he was a retired Shinigami that just finished pulling a prank on the man he thought tried to kill him, while simultaneously pulling some of his cinematic records to be sure?  No, running was his best option, until he either lost his pursuit or lost the laughter long enough to concentrate and cloak himself, again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, even trained police officers couldn't keep up with a Shinigami's speed.  Eventually, Undertaker lost his pursuit and he made his way back to his shop, finally able to cloak himself again to avoid further detection.  Once he was safely inside, he cleaned off his face and he removed his cloak.  He combed his fingers through his hair to loosen it, and he located his glasses and put them on as he sat down at his desk.

 

"Now, let's see if I'm right, Mr. Marlow."  He pulled out the cinematic clip he'd drawn from the human and he held it up for review.  He'd only collected enough to watch the last few days of Edward's life, to ascertain whether he was truly guilty of attempting to murder him.  He saw him making the powder mixture and sprinkling it into the box, and he nodded.  A grin spread over his pale lips again when he realized he was going to get to play some more.

 

"We're going to have great fun together, Mr. Marlow."

 

 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

# "Embracing madness"

 

# Chapter 3

 

~***~

* * *

 

**Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso.  I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.**

~***~

* * *

 

Undertaker forgot all about his date with William, until he got a phone call from the Dispatch supervisor on Saturday.  He'd just returned from the wedding, having delivered a gift to Lady Elizabeth from an anonymous source.  Knowing the impetuous blonde would question him if she took it directly from his hands, he left it with her butler, tipped his hat and simply said it was from an old friend of the family.  Returning home to find his phone ringing off the hook had been a bit of a surprise for him on a Saturday.  Weekends were surprisingly slow for business, save during the holidays.

 

"This is the Undertaker," he said as he sat down at his desk and brought the device to his ear.

 

"Good afternoon, sir," answered William's cultured, polite voice.  "I hope I haven't interrupted anything."

 

Undertaker glanced at the clock, suddenly recalling the impending night out.  "Not a thing, chap.  I just got in.  Not getting cold feet on me, are you?"

 

There was the sound of William clearing his throat in the background before he answered.  "No, not at all.  I merely wanted to confirm it with you and settle on an appropriate time.  The show begins at nine, so I suggest we leave for dinner no later than seven...though six-thirty would give us more time to enjoy the meal."

 

Undertaker shrugged.  "I've got no arguments against that.  Six-thirty, it is.  Toodles!"

 

He hung up the phone, not bothering to listen for the younger reaper's response.  A grin stretched his lips with the certainty that Spears would arrive at any damned time he told him to.  The temptation to play with him was strong, but he'd promised Grell that he would be nice.  He tapped his long nails on the surface of his desk and peered absently at the clock.  He had a little more than two hours to get ready for his little outing; but dear William had assured him that he wasn't taking him anywhere incredibly fancy.  Undertaker of course had to have a bit of fun with that, asking him if he thought he wasn't good enough for rich dining or entertainment.

 

That had been amusing.  The poor chap got all flustered and sputtery, until Undertaker burst into laughter and assured him he was only pulling his leg for a reaction.  He sighed, even as he chuckled about it.  "That gent's got to loosen up, if we're to have any fun at all tonight."

 

The grin curved his lips again, and rows of straight, white teeth made their appearance as he cradled his chin in his palms and propped his elbows on the desk.  "Of course, ol' Undertaker has plenty of ways to loosen a body up...so to speak.  Could be I just need to employ some of them and—"

 

The phone rang again and he frowned at it, mildly annoyed to have his plotting interrupted.  He considered ignoring it, but he opted to check and see if it was anything important, instead.  "South London Mortuary," he said, "Undertaker speaking."

 

"Be nice."  Grell's voice was stern, yet held a playful undertone as it came through the other line.

 

Undertaker chuckled.  "Yes, Miss.  I'll endeavor to be nice to your Willy; but you must understand I can't get through the night without a bit of teasing."

 

"Of course," agreed the redhead, his voice pitched low.  Undertaker could hear the muffled sound of running water from somewhere in the background.  "Just avoid overdoing it.  If you hurt his feelings, you'll spoil everything."

 

"My goodness, you're anxious about this," observed the mortician, guessing that Grell was making this call while his companion tidied up.  "I don't think Mr. Spears is as fragile as all that.  If he knows me at all, he'll understand it's all in fun."

 

"I'm sure he does, but just keep in mind that our handsome Will is terribly uptight."

 

Undertaker chuckled again in a plotting manner.  "Perhaps after tonight, he won't be.  Don't worry, lovely, I'll be gentle with him...relatively."

 

"Not _too_ gentle, I hope."  There was a smirk in Grell's voice.  "Just ease into it, at first."

 

"Will do, my dear...will do."

 

~xox~

* * *

 

William hesitated after stepping out of the carriage he'd rented for the evening.  As much as he was looking forward to this date, in a sense he dreaded it, as well.  Undertaker was one of the few reapers that could actually intimidate him, and he found it difficult to maintain his cool, collected exterior around him.  Legendary Death, Phantomhive informant, mortician; the Undertaker had been through many changes in his long life, and William often wondered what it would have been like to meet him back in his Dispatch days.

 

With a small sigh, Dispatch supervisor straightened his tie and approached the shop.  The "closed" sign was up, and the door was locked.  He rang the pull bell and knocked for good measure, and he schooled his face into his usual aloof, chill mask.  The moment the door opened and his date stood before him with that brilliant smile of his, the mask cracked and William swallowed.  Undertaker was wearing the same pin-stripe, three piece suit he'd worn the day he went to the pub with him and Grell.  His hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a black ribbon, and the bangs were parted to reveal his gorgeous eyes.

 

"G-good evening, sir," William said, gathering his wits with some difficulty.  Those eyes...he still couldn't get over how stunning they were, and they stared at him as if looking straight into his soul.

 

"Hi, hi," greeted the mortician, letting his eyes rove over William.  "You look dapper tonight, my dear."

 

William glanced down at himself, and he smoothed his jacket unconsciously.  "Thank you, sir."

 

Undertaker blinked slowly at him.  "What, no candy?  No flowers?"

 

Immediately startled by the demand, William was again flustered.  It hadn't even crossed his mind to bring traditional wooing gifts.  Between men, it seemed an odd practice to him—though he sometimes brought flowers to Grell because he was so very effeminate and the small gesture always put the redhead in a good mood for days, and made him more tractable.  "I...I..." he choked out, horrified that he'd inadvertently offended this man by forgetting something that seemed so trivial and out of place.

 

The ancient's grin broadened, and he started to laugh.  "Relax, dear chap.  I was just funning with you!  Ah, but that was entertaining."  He wiped at his eyes as he composed himself.  "Though I do love the sweets, I had no expectations of being treated like a pretty little maiden.  Lighten up, Willy."

 

The brunet closed his eyes and sighed.  "I am not usually this...uncertain," he admitted.  He straightened his shoulders and forced confidence that he didn't actually feel.  "Shall we go, sir?  The restaurant has our reservation."

 

The mortician's brows went up.  "Reservation?  How fancy is this place that you're taking me to, hmm?"

 

"Not too extravagant," assured William.  "It's a French bistro on the other side of town.  They just tend to get busy on the weekends, so I took the liberty of calling ahead to reserve a table."

 

"How very organized of you.  I'll just lock up."

 

William stepped back as the taller reaper came out and shut the door behind him.  He wasn't sure if he'd just been complimented or insulted.  Undertaker really didn't seem to care for his tightly organized way of doing things.  There was a rumble of thunder in the distance, and he looked up at the skies with a frown.  He'd considered a walk in the park between dinner and the show, but London weather being what it was, he had a feeling rain would soon spoil that plan. 

 

"Afraid of getting a little wet, love?" queried Undertaker as he locked the door.

 

"Not at all," assured the younger reaper, "though I had hoped for a clear night."

 

"Pfft...a clear night...in London."  The ancient shook his head and chuckled, turning around to face him while he pocketed his keys.  "You don't visit this side often enough, my lad.  We rarely see the stars here, during this time of the year.  Not to worry, though..."

 

He held up the tall, black umbrella he'd brought out with him.  The handle was crowned with a silver skull, of course.  "I'm bringing this.  We can huddle up under it together, if it starts pissing down."

 

Fortunately, the carriage William had rented was a fully enclosed one, and he had an umbrella of his own waiting inside of it.  He chose not to mention that to his date, after hearing him suggest they could "huddle together".  He cleared his throat and gestured politely toward the carriage.  "After you, sir."

 

"Stop calling me that," demanded the mortician with a brief, slight little frown.  "At least, not until the appropriate time.  I'm your date for this evening, not your boss or your elder...well, I _am_ your elder, but you don't have to make me feel old."

 

"I apologize," William said smoothly.  He was proud at how even his voice sounded.  "I only meant to show you respect, Undertaker."

 

"You can do all that later," said the ancient with a wave of his gloved hand.  William briefly wondered how he'd fit gloves onto his hands with nails as long as his were, but he presumed he'd trimmed them short for the date.  "After we've had our outing."

 

William's pulse quickened at the subtle implications of that, and he vividly recalled his last encounter with the retired reaper; when Ciel Phantomhive—now known as Ciel Dumont—walked in on them.  That little interruption had cost him his first opportunity to sleep with the Undertaker, but William knew he would never forget the promise made to him by the mortician before he took his leave of him.

 

_"I look forward to making you scream, William."_

So long as he lived, he would never forget how seductive and deep Undertaker's voice had been when he uttered that into his ear.  Just recalling that moment made a thrill go through him, and as he stepped into the carriage with the older reaper and sat down across from him, he had to fight not to stare at him. 

 

~xox~

* * *

 

Undertaker wasn't oblivious to William's struggle, and he couldn't decide whether he was more amused or annoyed with his propriety.  The driver evidently already had his route instructions and he couldn't see into the carriage unless he turned around and opened the privacy window—a thing which he was unlikely to do whilst driving them to their destination.  Undertaker decided to start ridding Spears of that stick up his bum right away.  He closed all the curtains over the windows for privacy and he looked directly at his companion, his eyes glittering in the shadowed interior.

 

"What are you doing over there?" he demanded, patting the space beside him.  "Come sit here with me.  I don't bite...much."

 

He finished his sentence with a grin, daring him with his eyes.  _~You aren't afraid are you, dear William?~_

 

The handsome, immaculate brunet swallowed, his eyes going to the spot that the other reaper had just patted invitingly.  "I suppose that wouldn't be too improper," he murmured, and he started to get up to change seats.

 

With perfect timing, they hit a crack in the street that jostled the carriage and made William immediately lose his balance.  He pitched forward and landed face-first in the Undertaker's crotch.  The mortician laughed with delight as the now mortified young supervisor muttered an apology against the package he'd accidentally face-planted into.  He helped the red-faced brunet right himself and sit down, and he kept one arm around him and chuckled as William straightened his glasses and tried to muster some dignity.

 

"Aren't _you_ the eager one," teased Undertaker.  "You cut right to the chase, William."

 

"I had no intention of...doing that," protested the blushing Shinigami agent.  Undertaker could dare say he'd never seen William T. Spears' face this pink before.  William started to smooth his slightly mussed hair, and the mortician clucked his tongue and caught his wrist.

 

"It's all right not to be perfectly groomed at all times, my dear," advised Undertaker.  "Live a bit.  Have some _fun_ tonight.  I know _I_ intend to."

 

And with that said, he cupped the back of William's head with his other hand and crushed his mouth against his, kissing him demandingly.  The brunet made a startled noise in his throat, and his free hand pressed lightly against Undertaker's chest in a reactive moment of token resistance.  The mortician gripped his wrist tighter in an assertive manner, and he plundered his mouth with his tongue.  The confused protest became a low, needy moan and William settled down, giving into it quite fast.

 

Undertaker softened the kiss somewhat as a reward, stroking his tongue against the Brunet's and pressing it down.  William submitted further and his hand settled over the other reaper's heart, the fingers curling to grasp at his jacket.  Undertaker took his time, withdrawing his mouth only to claim William's lips again, tilting his head to kiss him at a different angle.  The brunet was soon breathing heavily, squirming slightly in his seat.  It was mightily tempting to let go of his wrist, drop his hand into his lap and have a feel of his goods, but the carriage began to slow down after a while and they heard the driver call out that they were coming upon their first destination of the night. 

 

The ancient released his companion, watching him with a pleased little grin as William gasped for breath and tried to collect himself.  He straightened his clothes even though they hadn't gotten mussed, and he adjusted his glasses.  A different sort of flush colored his aristocratic cheekbones now, and he stared wordlessly at the mischievous creature that had caused such excitement.

 

"I need a moment," William announced in a strained tone.

 

Undertaker glanced down at the prominent tent in the brunet's pants, and he smirked.  "I'm sure you do, love.  I could use a moment, myself."  He was likewise sporting evidence of arousal, and even someone as socially careless as Undertaker wasn't inclined to stroll into a nice establishment with his crotch sticking out.

 

~xox~

* * *

 

He supposed he really shouldn't have been so shocked by Undertaker's abrupt aggression in the carriage.  The man was as unpredictable as they came, and really quite unhinged.  Still, his knees felt wobbly when they finally got out and walked the path to the bistro, and though his condition had ebbed to a point where it wasn't blatantly obvious anymore, he feared that a single touch from his companion could set him off all over again.  Honestly, it wouldn't even take a touch.  Undertaker could likely put him in such a disgraceful state again with his voice alone, should he choose to utter something suggestive to him during the meal.

 

How troublesome.  Why did he always fall for the volatile, the eccentric and the flamboyant ones?  He sometimes envied Eric and Alan their relationship with each other, which seemed perfectly healthy and loving, to him.  Surely they had their moments too, but he couldn't imagine them producing as much drama as Grell did, or pranking each other the way Undertaker liked to.

 

But while he envied the apparent normalcy of their relationship, he admitted to himself that he wouldn't trade Grell or Undertaker.  It was a thrilling, passionate, sometimes dangerous ride, but it was what a reaper like him craved in his heart of hearts.  He _needed_ their wildness and insanity to balance out his orderly, rigid principles.  He didn't even know yet if this would develop into a three-way relationship between them or not, but the more he considered it, the more appealing it became.  Undertaker and Grell could amuse each other when he needed some peace and quiet to work, and he could let himself go a bit with both of them in ways he never could with anyone else.

 

"Thinking deep thoughts, chap?"

 

William looked at the man beside him as they stepped in line to get into the bistro, realizing he was being rude.  One should attempt to make small talk when on a date—particularly when with someone like Undertaker who craved entertainment like a drug.  "I was just thinking perhaps I should have chosen a quieter location."

 

The older reaper shrugged.  "This'll do.  If the food's good, it's all right by me."

 

William nodded.  He'd never met a reaper that seemed to savor all the little things, the way Undertaker did.  They made in and the Host found their name on the list and showed them to the covered balcony table that William had reserved.  Undertaker looked around with a grin as they sat down, and he nodded.

 

"Quite nice," he complimented.  "And it's out of the way of the crowds, too."

 

William breathed a covert sigh of relief, and he thanked the host as he handed their menus to them, and as he looked at the drink selection, he recalled the mortician's liquor of choice.  "Will you be having brandy tonight, Undertaker?  I don't know if the brand they serve here is any good, but the champagne is a delight."

 

"Hmm."  Undertaker studied the selection, his eyes roving over the menu beneath a few strands of fringe that had escaped the ponytail.  He looked up from the menu and smiled at William in a clever manner.  "I'd say the special occasion warrants giving the bubbly a try, Mr. Spears."

 

William felt his cheeks heat up, and he nodded.  "Very good.  I'll have the waiter bring us two waters and a chilled bottle, then."

 

"Ooh, snails," said the mortician with interest, peering closer at the text.  He glanced at William again.  "Ever tried those, my dear?"

 

William was briefly distracted again by being called "my dear".  Undertaker used terms of affection like that for people he genuinely liked—regardless of romantic interest—and while he'd demonstrated sexual interest in him, this was the first time William actually felt like he might actually be growing fond of him.

 

"The escargot here is exquisite," assured William with a small smile.  "Shall I order some as an appetizer?"

 

The mortician drummed his gloved fingers on the table thoughtfully.  "You know, I've never had it before.  Can you believe that, as long as I've lived?"

 

William's smile grew, as did his confidence.  "Then I'll order us a serving.  Just a small one, in the event you don't find it to your liking."

 

Undertaker nodded.  "Lovely."

 

They fell into silence for a few moments and read through the menu, until the waiter came and greeted them.  "We'll have a bottle of your finest champagne, two glasses of chilled water and a small serving of escargot, for a start," instructed William without looking up from his menu.

 

"Oui, monsieur," said the waiter with a bow.  He placed two small serving plates and wrapped eating utensils on the table for them, and then he left.  It didn't take long for him to return with the requested beverages and the ice bucket, and he pulled the cork and poured them each a glass of the sparkling champagne before placing the bottle in the bucket.  "The escargot will arrive momentarily, messieurs.  Have you chosen another course?"

 

William glanced at Undertaker, and the older reaper shook his head, still peering at the menu.  "We'll need more time, please."

 

"But of course, monsieur."  The waiter bowed again and retreated, leaving them alone on the balcony once more. 

 

Undertaker leaned back a bit in his chair and lifted his glass of champagne to his lips.  William did the same, and the mortician paused with the rim of the glass hovering at his mouth as the brunet took a sip.

 

"So William," said Undertaker conversationally, "Do you like slippery, salty things in your mouth?"

 

The Shinigami supervisor choked on his drink and swiftly put it down to snatch up his napkin.  "Excuse me?" came his muffled, scandalized reply.

 

"You said the escargot is 'exquisite'," pointed out the older man with a smirk.  "I'm just trying to get to know you better, chap."

 

William doubted very much he was only talking about food.  The wicked twinkle in his eye said the mortician was baiting him.  After coughing into his napkin to clear the drink he'd inadvertently inhaled, he took a slow breath so that he could speak.  "I appreciate many different tastes and textures...and the escargot really _is_ exquisite."

 

Undertaker chuckled.  "You're learning."

 

William put the napkin back down and took another cautious sip of his champagne.  "Learning what?"

 

"How to fence with me," answered the mortician.  He sipped his drink and resumed his survey of the menu.

 

Confused but too proud to show it, William returned his attention to the menu as well.

 

~xox~

* * *

 

The appetizer came out, along with a plate of croissants.  Undertaker stared down at the stuffed snail shells with quiet interest, while William selected two of the available six and put them onto his plate.  The brunet looked up as Undertaker poked at one of the remaining four escargot, and he smirked.

 

"They are quite dead, I assure you."

 

The mortician made a curious face, poking some more.  "I'll take your word for it."

 

Finding his antics a bit childish and unreasonably funny, William delved into the shell of one of his with the tiny fork provided for them.  "You wanted to try them," he reminded, feeling his confidence swelling.  "It's quite a delicacy."

 

The unsavory curve of Undertaker's upper lip suggested he doubted that.  "Now that I see it," he murmured, "I think it's a bit too strange for my taste."

 

William finished chewing and swallowing the morsel in his mouth before answering.  Suddenly, the great legend was like a reluctant child before him and he found it both endearing and annoying, at once.  "Just try one.  Please."

 

The mortician pushed aside some of the parsley covering the shell exit of one of them, grimaced, and shook his head.  "I don't think so."

 

"You embalm corpses for a living," reasoned William, "but you won't even try this?"

 

"I don't _eat_ corpses," said the ancient stubbornly.  "I'm afraid I'll have to pass."

 

"Do you eat steak?"  William struggled not to smile as the older reaper looked at him curiously.  "Or any sort of meat, for that matter?  Logically, those come from corpses."

 

"Yes, but nothing so...weird," replied Undertaker—again poking at the unmoving, garnished shell on the plate.

 

"Stop that," admonished William.  When Undertaker raised his eyes to look at him, he remembered whom he was speaking to and he tried a more diplomatic tone.  "You enjoy trying new things, don't you?  How can you know you won't like it, if you won't even try it?"

 

A grin surfaced on Undertaker's lips, but it quickly vanished, and he sat back in his chair again and sipped his champagne.  "Sorry.  No."

 

William felt like stomping his foot.  "Why not?"

 

"Because it's weird, love."

 

He very nearly responded that Undertaker was "weird" too, but he refrained.  "Please."

 

"No."

 

"Just one." William's left brow twitched.

 

Undertaker grinned and shook his head.

 

The Dispatch supervisor sighed and rubbed his forehead.  He very nearly gave in, but he knew that it was now a game with this beautiful, mad, deadly creature.  He refused to come out on the losing side. 

 

"Honestly.  What do I need to do to convince to try one, Undertaker?"

 

"Hmm."  The mortician seemed to consider the proposal, absently combing a lock of pale hair away when the damp breeze blew it across his right eye.  Lightning danced across the sky, and it seemed to reflect in Undertaker's green-gold eyes as he smiled at William connivingly.  He leaned over the iron patio table and rested his elbow on the table, before propping his chin in his hand.  "Perhaps if you feed it to me."

 

William stared at him for a moment, his gaze stuck to the sensual smile and the way the scar slashing diagonally across the older reaper's face stretched slightly with his smile.  He couldn't resist.  He took the fork he'd just used and he scooped into another shell, riveted by those beautiful eyes. 

 

"All right, then," he murmured, lifting the sample towards Undertaker's smiling lips.  They parted, and he gently slipped the contents of the fork into his companion's mouth.

 

Undertaker's eyes didn't leave his as he chewed, but his pale brows furrowed over them and he grimaced a little.

 

"What do you think?" prompted William, guessing by his expression that he didn't have a favorable opinion.

 

"It's like a sponge soaked in garlic-butter," mumbled the older reaper after some thought.  He shook his head and sat back.  "I'm not in love with the texture."

 

William nodded.  Desserts were more Undertaker's forte, so he wasn't really surprised.  "At least you tried it."

 

~xox~

* * *

   

They had the main course after that, which the Undertaker was more favorable to.  Dessert was clearly his favorite part, and he dug into his bread pudding with vigor that had William wondering if he should order a second one for him.  They finished the rest of the bottle of champagne, and he was almost disappointed when they left for the theater and he didn't get groped or manhandled by the mortician on the way.  He was initially going to go with Grell's suggestion of a comedy, but nothing was scheduled to fit that.  He dearly hoped as he stepped out of the carriage with his companion that the drama play going on would suffice.

 

As in the bistro, he'd reserved a balcony seat.  They were shown to the private booth and given opera glasses; which Undertaker toyed with and stared at in perplexity.  "You use them to see the production up close," explained William. 

 

It then occurred to him that reserving a balcony seat might not have been such a good idea.  The Undertaker no longer wore his glasses, so his vision was quite poor.  He dearly hoped the opera glasses would enable him to see the production clearly enough.  He watched as the older reaper brought the little magnifying lenses to his eyes to look at the stage, and he nearly smiled at the expression of surprised delight on his face.

 

"Oh!  These are like tiny binoculars," exclaimed the mortician with delight.  "Why, I can see that stage as if I'm standing right on it, when I look through these."

 

"That's the idea," said William with some relief.  He relaxed in his seat and congratulated himself on a job well done.  The lights began to dim, and the curtains on the stage parted to reveal cutout scenery of a forest.  A woman came on the stage and began to call out for help, wandering as if lost in the woods.  There was a clash of cymbals and the lights flashed on the stage in a representation of lightning.  With ironic timing, real thunder boomed outside, loudly enough to make the playhouse vibrate.

 

"What is this play about?" Undertaker queried, peering through his binoculars with interest.

 

William opened up the playbill given to him by the usher.  "It's a tragedy about a…werewolf."  He frowned.  This wasn't the production he'd booked for.  Realizing that the play he'd intended to see was scheduled for next week, he sighed and put his face in his hand.

 

Undertaker noticed, and he smirked sidelong at him.  "What's the trouble, Willy?"

 

"This wasn't the production I intended to take you to," admitted the brunet.  "My apologies, Undertaker.  I do hope this play isn't too terrible."

 

The mortician chuckled softly.  "I don't see the issue.  I think a tragedy about a werewolf sounds quite entertaining."

 

William didn't think so; he thought it sounded terribly _stupid_ …but his tastes weren't as eclectic as the Undertaker's.  "Let's hope so."  He lifted his opera glasses to his eyes, settling them over his regular glasses.  Someone was howling off-stage as the actress continued wandering around, calling out the name of her lover.

 

~xox~

* * *

 

As the play went on, William discovered to his eternal regret that it was not only awful, but frightfully so.  The actors were terrible, they sang off-key and the puns couldn't even garnish a chuckle from the Undertaker—who tended to laugh at the cheapest jokes.  When the first interlude came, William cast an embarrassed look at his date and he wished he had a coffin of his own to crawl into.

 

"Again, I must apologize," he whispered.  "I had no desire to take you to such a…a farce of a production."

 

The Undertaker put down his opera glasses, shrugged and grinned.  "It's not a total loss, William.  Loosen your pants and relax."

 

He knew he was right; here he was on a date with the reaper he practically worshipped, and he was complaining about the quality of the production they were seeing.  He'd just hoped to make it a perfect night.  "You're right," he conceded.  "I'm sure my tension isn't helping to improve the experience and…what are you doing?"

 

Undertaker had gotten up from his seat in their balcony alcove to pull the curtain cord behind them, blocking the view of the booth from the corridor and signaling for privacy.  He returned to his seat with a toothy grin, his eyes roving over William expectantly.  "Making sure none of the ushers come in here to offer refreshment.  I'm glad you agree with me, William.  Funny thing, though; you haven't loosened your pants."

 

William glanced down at said pants in a state of perplexity.  "I thought you were speaking figuratively.  I don't understand."

 

The ancient sighed.  "Oh, the joys of breaking in a green one.  Here, allow me."

 

William's eyes went wide behind the lenses of his glasses as the silver reaper leaned in close, put his hand on his knee and stroked it intimately up his thigh.  His vision became impaired as his cheeks heated and his glasses fogged up.  "Sir, this really isn't the place for—"

 

"Shh," warned the Undertaker in a sibilant hiss.  He unbuckled the brunet's belt and tugged it loose, and then followed by unbuttoning his trousers.  "Who's going to see, love?  The lights are going down again and the play is about to resume.  Now stop being such a puritan."

 

Undertaker's warm lips brushed against his ear, kissing it softly in passing and drawing a shiver from its owner.  He pulled the zipper down on William's pants and reached into them, his gloved hand skillfully curling around the swelling treasure inside to ease it out into the open.

 

"Oh..h-honestly," gulped William, petrified.  The man playing the werewolf came on stage howling, and the Shinigami director felt like joining him.  There he was in a theater, getting handled by the legendary reaper, right out in public.  His breath caught as his companion began to stroke him; slowly, at first.

 

"Relax, my young friend," Undertaker advised in a low, deep drone that sounded nothing like his usual "mortician voice".  His lips were smiling against William's jaw as he kissed it, his gloved hand moving steadily up and down the length it held, causing it to harden completely.  The sensation of the material texture was…interesting.  More than interesting, actually.  

 

William gripped the arms of the chair, his eyes losing focus and growing heavy-lidded with pleasure.

 

"That isn't 'relaxing'," chided the mortician with an amused, low chuckle.  He paused his motions to stroke his thumb back and forth over the tip, rubbing the material against the sensitive slid and making William shudder. 

 

"Let go of the armrests," instructed the Undertaker.  He nibbled William's earlobe with those perfectly straight, white teeth.  When the brunet hesitantly did as directed, he nodded in satisfaction.  "Good lad.  Now take a deep breath, relax that supple body of yours and enjoy the next act."

 

As much as he felt like grabbing onto the arm rests again, William didn't want to insult his date by disobeying his request—or rather, his order.  Used to being the one giving the orders, even in the bedroom, it was an entirely different experience with Undertaker.  He tried to steady his breathing as the mortician resumed stroking the length of his arousal; up and down, progressively faster.  He kissed his neck as he pleasured him, sucking lightly on the skin in one spot to make blood rise to the surface and leave his mark on him. 

 

"Nup," warned Undertaker when William started to grip the arms of his seat again.  He lightly smacked the closest hand with his free hand.  "Back to the sides, love.  Relax, for me.  Give into it."

 

William's hands trembled as they dropped back into the chair at either side.  A strange thrill went through him as he submitted to this reaper again; the very same thrill he'd experienced in his shop that day, and when he'd kissed him in the carriage.  There was freedom in surrender, and the instinctive thought was such an oxymoron to him that he began to pick it apart in his head, trying to understand it.

 

"Stop over-thinking everything, darlin'," purred the mortician into his ear.  "Just live in the moment."

 

Sufficiently distracted from his mental dilemma by that deep, resonant voice, William heaved a shuddering breath and moaned softly.  Sweat beaded his forehead and he stared blankly at the stage as Undertaker applied more pressure and stroked him off faster.  The ancient spoke into his ear as he pleasured him, instructing him to breathe deeply and chastising him when he started tensing up.  Something was happening on the stage with the werewolf and a group of angry villagers, but William was beyond the point of paying attention.  His eyes drifted shut and he began to murmur the name of his dark, powerful companion. 

 

He began to peak in a way he'd never experienced before.  It wasn't localized to the groin; with each breath, the blissful sensation seemed to travel through his entire body and when he finally bucked in the Undertaker's stroking hand and spilled himself, he couldn't even vocalize the intensity of it.  He sat there panting and stunned while the mortician drew a handkerchief from within his dress jacket and proceeded to wipe up the evidence of William's orgasm.  He was smiling in a pleased manner, and he rolled up the soiled handkerchief into another one he'd produced from his pocket, before putting them both away and tucking the brunet back into his pants.   

 

"There now," said the mortician in a low voice as the actors left the stage again for the second intermission, "this production isn't all that bad, is it?"

 

It took William a moment to collect his thoughts and respond with any sort of coherency.  "Decidedly better than it was before."

 

The mortician chuckled.

 

~xox~

* * *

 

Like many in the audience, they didn't stay for the rest of the play.  It was partly because it was so bad, but William honestly feared by the twinkle in the Undertaker's eye that he might decide to give him an encore of his _own_ performance during the first intermission.  They found it pouring outside when they emerged from the theater, and as they climbed into the carriage and sat down, it occurred to William that he hadn't instructed the driver to take them anywhere else, for the night.  The base plan was for dinner, the show and then back to the mortuary to drop Undertaker off.  

 

"Oh, honestly," sighed the brunet as the carriage started off.  The night was still young, and he wasn't ready to end the date.  Unfortunately, there wasn't much to do at this hour except visit a pub or go dancing, and he wasn't the dancing sort.  The park was out of the question, in this weather. 

 

"What's the trouble, William?"  Undertaker had his head cocked inquisitively as he watched him with those amazing, glittering eyes.  His bangs were parted around them, slightly damp from the rain despite the umbrella he'd used to shield them from the weather.

 

"I was hoping to end the night with a walk in the park," confessed William.  "The driver is taking us back to your shop."

 

Undertaker shrugged.  "I fail to see the issue, love."

 

"I didn't want to cut our outing short," explained William, his face heating again beneath that unrelenting stare, "although I confess, I'm not sure what sort of entertainment we may find at this hour that you would enjoy."

 

The older reaper grinned in that Cheshire way of his that so many found unsettling.  For William, however, it provoked a shiver of excitement that he still didn't quite know how to handle.  "Perhaps I can show you, dear Willy.  The night doesn't have to end at my shop, you know."

 

Realizing what he was implying, the thrill of excitement grew stronger—along with the anxiety.  There was little doubt that the Undertaker intended to bed him, and he'd already given him samples of what to expect from him.  The question on William's mind was: could he perform to this ancient being's satisfaction?  He'd suffered performance anxiety with Grell too, but this was much, much worse.

 

"I...I will do my best to entertain you," he promised haltingly, hating himself for his insecurity and lack of confidence.

 

Undertaker chuckled.  "I'm sure you will, Mr. Spears.  I'm sure you will."

 

~xox~

* * *

-To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

"Stop."

 

Undertaker watched as the brunet halted, turning around to look at him.  William had barely taken more than five steps into his shop, when he decided he was tired of waiting.  He could have offered him a beaker of tea and a biscuit, made small talk and commenced with other common social interactions; but he had been alone and unsatisfied for far too long.  He took his gloves off slowly when the handsome, uptight young supervisor looked back at him with one elegant eyebrow raised in question.  He didn't move from his spot, though.

 

Undertaker tossed the gloves carelessly to the floor, and he locked the door of his shop.  "Turn around."

 

William did so, and he flinched just a little when Undertaker made a gesture that caused the candles in his shop to light up.  Smiling with quiet, predatory anticipation, the older reaper advanced on him, feet hardly touching the ground. 

 

"It's a bit odd to see you without your scythe, William T. Spears," remarked the mortician softly.  "You seem to bear it like an extension of yourself.  Might as well be attached to you, when I see you wield it."

 

William nodded, and only the motion of his Adam's apple gave away his swallow of apprehension.  "Thank you."

 

Undertaker smirked.  "One might also say that your scythe is your security blanket."  He circled around the younger reaper slowly, measuring his lean, refined form with interest.  William was taller than average, but not _quite_ as tall as Undertaker.

 

William's head turned with Undertaker's motions, and he tried to follow him with his gaze.  "My scythe is my instrument.  I've made it a point to become proficient with it over the years.  I suppose one could say I feel more...secure...while carrying it.  That observation isn't wrong."

 

Undertaker nodded, and he placed a hand at the small of William's back, before letting it glide down over his bottom.  Now standing behind him, Undertaker leaned in to whisper into his ear.  "Ah, but I don't see your scythe right now, dear William."

 

The agent tensed slightly and flushed.  "Because I don't need it, right now."

 

"You sound so certain of that."  Undertaker brushed his lips against the side of William's throat, feeling his pulse hammering against the skin.

 

William shivered.  "I'm confident that you wouldn't give me cause to use it.  Not now, at any rate."

 

The Undertaker chuckled.  "And they say you aren't a gambling man."  His voice had deepened, growing rougher with anticipation of the lusty delights awaiting him.  He reached around to William's front, and he boldly cupped the evidence of his arousal, rubbing it intimately through his trousers.  "They also say you're quite the dominant sort.  I wonder if you're as good at taking orders as you are at giving them."

 

William's breath caught, his eyes fluttering shut.  "It depends on who's giving them, sir."

 

The mortician's smile grew wider, and he encircled William's waist with his free arm, pulling him tight against him as he massaged his groin.  "You've lapsed back into calling me 'sir' again, William.  How appropriate for this setting."

 

He bit the younger reaper's earlobe, clamping down with his ivory white teeth just enough to make it sting.  He ground himself against William's backside suggestively, throbbing with need too long denied.  "Tonight, you're mine.  Say it, my dear…say it and <I> _mean_ </I> it."

 

"Oh God," gasped the brunet in a heartfelt, breathy tone.  He leaned back into the older man's embrace, while at the same time pressing his crotch further into his fondling hand.  "I'm yours."

 

The passionate declaration left no doubt how badly he wanted him.  Of course, William had already demonstrated as much earlier in the evening.  For the Undertaker, however, verbal expressions of consent were just as important as physical ones.  Satisfied that he'd get little to no resistance from him, the mortician stopped rubbing between his thighs and he turned him around to face him.  He shook his wayward bangs back from his face and he stared intently into William's eyes.  He reached up to trace the fine-boned structure of the Dispatch supervisor's face, before letting both his hands drop to his sides.

 

"Show me," demanded the Undertaker.  "Show me how much you want to be mine, love."

 

For a moment the agent hesitated uncertainly.  Undertaker waited patiently, letting him figure it out for himself.  William's glittering eyes left his and they traveled down his body, caressing the suit-clad length of it before settling on the bulge in his trousers.  William reached up to loosen the mortician's tie, and then his fingers began to work on the buttons of his vest, followed by his shirt.  When he'd bared his bone-pale, scarred chest to view, the brunet leaned in to kiss his throat, his hands ghosting over the expanse of his torso to trace his scars in an almost worshipful manner.

 

"Mmm, you have a soft touch," murmured the Undertaker in approval.  He'd expected something rougher from him…more assertive.  The way his palms glided over his lean chest was quite gentle, however.  It seemed this cold, aloof creature could be provoked to softness after all, with a firm hand.  The mortician tilted his head back as William's lips trailed over his clavicle, then down his chest.  The ribbon in his hair went next, followed by his cumber bun.  They fluttered to the floor as William's kisses grew more enthusiastic, and the Undertaker smiled when his moist tongue licked the expanse of the diagonal scar running down his chest…tasting the raised flesh.

 

William popped the button of his trousers open next, and he began to go to his knees.  Undertaker looked down to find the brunet's features delightfully flushed pink.  He presumed it was a combination of arousal and embarrassment that provoked it, given the way his hands had begun to shake slightly.  The husky, breathy utterance that left the agent's lips next answered that question for him.

 

"I've wanted you for so long," admitted William, his lips animated against the toned pallor of the Undertaker's stomach.  He traced another scar with his tongue, before kissing his navel.  The trousers came undone and he looked up at him, his narrow eyes flashing with passion behind his glasses.

 

The mortician reached down and eased the eyewear off of his face, putting it aside on a nearby coffin.  "And so you'll have me, you tarty darling.  I had no idea you could smolder this way."

 

A brief, subtle smirk curved William's lips.  "There happens to be a lot about me that people could scarcely imagine, sir."

 

"It just takes a bit to reveal this hidden side of you," presumed the Undertaker with a grin.  "It's a delight to see my efforts are being re—WARDED!"

 

He jumped in surprise, his voice going up an octave as William suddenly grabbed his ass and squeezed it without warning.  The Undertaker snickered with enchantment, and he stroked the dark, immaculate hair to muss it a bit.  "Getting impatient are we, love?"

 

William gave him another squeeze.  "I've been patient for long enough, I think."

 

Undertaker chose not to remark on his aggression.  If he got out of line, he would certainly let him know.  As it was, William seemed to sense that he'd come close to overstepping himself, and he rectified the situation immediately by tugging his pants open and down far enough to expose him.  The brunet stared at his revealed erection, his calm expression melting to reveal admiration.  He didn't remark on his size; rather, he showed his appreciation for it by taking the base in his hand and holding it steady for his mouth.

 

Undertaker drew a slow, deep breath as William T. Spears slid his lips over the tip and down, taking his swollen length slowly into his hot, wet mouth.  He reached down and stroked his hair, watching as the brunet retreated, allowing his cock to slide back out of his mouth to the tip.  He made a low sound of pleasure in his throat as the shaft slowly disappeared back into his mouth, until William's lips met his fisted hand holding the rest of it.  Undertaker hissed softly as William withdrew again, stroking firmly with his tongue as he went before sucking it back in.  The shaft was glistening with saliva when he retreated again, and the brunet's tongue swirled around the knob at the tip as he sucked on it.

 

"Oh, you are…very good at that," observed the Undertaker, his voice slightly uneven.  Or perhaps it had just been so long since anyone had wrapped their lips around him that he'd simply forgotten the sensation.  Either way, he was enjoying it immensely.  William's head began to bob and the mortician braced himself against a coffin leaning against the wall, his long hair falling down around his shoulders as he bowed his head and watched his companion's mouth make love to his cock.

 

William seemed to take the compliment well; he began to suck him off harder and faster, leaving him reaching blindly for the lid of the coffin he was leaning against, just for something to grab.  The Undertaker began to pant in spite of himself, his knees going weak with pleasure.  He somehow managed to avoid blurting litanies of encouragement to the hard-working reaper servicing him, and he began to worry that he might not be able to remain in control of his lust for long.

 

"I want to chain you up and ravish you," growled the mortician thoughtlessly, listening to the wet slurps as William pleasured him.  "Want to hear you calling out my name, love…begging me to hurt you just a little bit more…"

 

He had to shut up at that point, because he was nearing his peak already.  He somehow balanced himself and he reached down to stop William's enthusiastic efforts.  "Th-that's enough, my dear.  Stop." 

 

He caught hold of his ears to still his head, and William visibly winced as he pinched them.  He breathed a sigh as the Shinigami agent backed off, letting his wet arousal slip out of his mouth.  William looked up at him with hot, needy eyes, and the Undertaker was again flabbergasted by the change in him.  So eager to please…so hot and ready and willing.  His erection twitched and he clenched his teeth.  If dear William was this intense once he got started, he couldn't help but wonder what he might be in for with his fiery lover.  Grell would probably tear him apart.  The thought made him grin, and he took William by the arms to help him back to his feet.

 

"I think perhaps we should move this encounter down to the basement," he said huskily.

 

~xox~

* * *

 

William followed the older reaper at his behest, his nervousness returning full force.  He knew he could probably expect a substantial amount of discomfort during this encounter, but the pleasures promised as well made that worth it.  He swallowed as they passed through the dark curtain separating the Undertaker's personal living quarters from the shop, and he tried to work some moisture into his mouth.  The mortician's gliding strides were purposeful and confident, and his suit still hung open at the top.  He paused by the stairs leading into the basement and he turned to face William, smiling.  He gestured gracefully at the stairs, his bared chest and stomach pale and glorious in the flickering lamplight.

 

"After you," invited the Undertaker softly.

 

William peered down the blurry steps, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.  He wanted this, though…wanted it with a fiery passion that scared him a bit.

 

"Not having second thoughts, are you?"

 

William turned to look at his companion—who was just close enough for him to see him clearly.  "Absolutely not," he assured, allowing his gaze to linger on the ivory splendor of his chest.  "I'm simply not used to going without my glasses." 

 

"Afraid you'll fall and hurt yourself?" guessed Undertaker.  "Hmm.  Come on, then.  I'll guide your steps."

 

William flushed as the silver reaper offered a long hand to him.  Ordinarily too prideful to accept such simple help, he found himself reaching out and taking the cool hand in his.  The black nails were polished and smooth, like onyx.  William impulsively stroked a thumb over the top of one of them, wondering if they had blackened from sheer age, or if there was a fundamental difference between the Undertaker and other reapers.  He considered asking him, but then the taller man began to guide him down the stairs and the question of his nails seemed trivial.  William descended with him, feeling a shiver pass through him as the cooler air of the basement permeated his clothes.  He saw the examination table, saw the restraints, and he stopped in his tracks.  He knew that the Undertaker strapped his subjects down when he worked on them, because even in death, corpses were known to sit up from time to time.  Was he seriously about to let this man strap him to a table meant for cadavers?

 

"Chilled, are you?" observed the mortician with a knowing little smirk.  "Not to worry, love.  I'll have you warmed up quickly."

 

The implications of that simple sentence made a different kind of shiver pass through the agent's body, and he vividly recalled the intimacy of his encounter with him at the theater.  Those hands…only Grell's touch came close to the magic of them, and they were about to be all over his body.     

 

Still…the table was meant for dead bodies.  William nodded at it.  "I take it you want me to lie down on that?"

 

The mortician glanced over at it, and he chuckled.  "Consider it a test of trust, dear William.  If you can do this for me, I'll know you're serious.  We may even move on to the bedroom, if you satisfy me."

 

William suppressed another shiver, but he knew that if he were to take the legendary reaper as a lover, he'd have to embrace all that he was.  There was no compromising with a man like him.  Perhaps that was why the Undertaker had been alone for so long; nobody was strong enough to accept the darkness that came with the package.  With a last determined nod, the brunet turned to face his companion completely, and he began to undress.

 

"As I said before; I'm yours for the night." 

 

His tie went to the floor—a thing that he would generally find unspeakable.  He was the sort to find something to drape his clothing over, unless someone like Grell was tearing it off too quickly for him to undress neatly.  He hardly cared if his garments got dirty now; expensive though they were.  He was with the Undertaker…with the reaper he'd admired and secretly wanted for so long.  As he removed his dress jacket and dropped it beside the tie, he was reminded of the time he'd come to this man for information and the Undertaker had casually told him to strip.  A smirk adorned his lips before he realized it, and the mortician began to grin.

 

"Thinking naughty thoughts, Mr. Spears?"

 

William's smirk didn't drop…because he could see the effect he was having on him visible already.  Undertaker had tucked himself back into his trousers and refastened them before descending to the basement, but a telling bulge was already forming in the crotch of them.  A part of him was a bit concerned over the older reaper's size and how his virgin ass would receive him, but given the Undertaker's recent demonstrations of sensual skills, he had faith that he would make that part easier on him, at least.

 

"I'm recalling the first time I began to do this for you," he said boldly, keeping his eyes on the glorious, deadly beauty of the man before him.  He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, deliberately letting the material glide over his arms slowly before pulling his arms completely out of the sleeves and depositing the shirt on the floor.  Undertaker's flashing, dual-colored gaze wandered over his bared torso with appreciation.  "I think I would have actually gone through with it, sir."

 

The mortician cocked his head to the side, his smile growing playful.  "Oh?  I would have had you right then and there, if you'd have done it.  Do you know that, William?"

 

The Dispatch supervisor swallowed, his arousal spiking again with that simple, carnal statement.  "I doubt I would have fought you.  I had no idea you found me the slightest bit attractive, then."

 

"You're a very attractive man," assured the Undertaker, his gaze following William's hands as they began to work on his trousers.  "Yes, quite attractive.  I found your stiff conservatism annoying, but I think even then I would have been curious to see if I could crack that shell and make you scream my name.  Pity I didn't let you continue, eh?"

 

William was about to agree with him, but he rethought that.  "I think that it's better this way.  If this had occurred then, I would have been little more than a warm body for you to ravish.  Pardon my candor, but you only knew one side of me at the time, and you've admitted you didn't particularly like it."

 

Undertaker shrugged.  "True.  Now that I've seen other aspects of your personality, I find you pleasing in more ways than one."  He closed in on him abruptly, looming over him with a toothy, broad grin.  William forced himself not to flinch at the intimidating move, holding his ground as the taller reaper traced his facial features with his fingertips in a butterfly-soft caress.  "But you could still use some improvement, dear William.  I can tell that you love your job, but you demonstrate no joy in it.  Indeed, you seem to struggle with letting go and taking joy in anything you do."

 

"I'm learning," murmured the brunet.  "I…would like to let myself go; at least with you and Grell.  Perhaps with time, the two of you can teach me how."

 

"Mmm, I think I would like that."  Undertaker loomed closer and spoke huskily into his ear.  "Does this mean you would accept us _both_ as your lovers, my dear?"

 

William's eyes fluttered shut as the pale hands glided over his bare shoulders and arms in a teasing lover's caress.  "Death help me, I would."  The words tumbled out faster than he could stop them…all that pent up frustration and forbidden desire.  "I want you both.  I want a place where I can be something other than the administrator."

 

His own words surprised him.  Confessions slipped from him so easily around this reaper.  He flushed at his own brazen declaration, embarrassed for being so open…but the Undertaker had a different reaction.  He nuzzled his cheek in an affectionate manner, seemingly pleased by the soft admittance.  "And so you shall, William.  So you shall."

 

Undertaker's lips caressed the side of William's neck and his ear, drawing another shiver from him.  "Grell refers to you as his 'cold prince'," he purred, his hands stroking the brunet's sides and hips possessively, "but you're quite warm, aren't you?  Chilled though you may be, this symmetrical treat of a body radiates heat."

 

The mortician stepped back abruptly, releasing him and watching him with heavy-lidded bedroom eyes.  "Now for the rest of it," he demanded, nodding at the half-undone trousers.

 

William's knees felt shaky again as he bent over to remove his shoes and socks.  He kicked them aside and finished unfastening his trousers, sliding them and his knickers down over his hips and legs carefully, because he feared he might trip himself up with too much haste.  His erection glistened on the tip with arousal and he imagined the feel of the Undertaker's hands on it when he noticed the burning gaze caressing it.  Now completely nude and shivering uncontrollably, he straightened up.  He impulsively brushed a wayward lock of hair away from his eyes, primping instinctively. 

 

Undertaker shook his head.  "Leave it mussed, darlin'.  If I wanted an immaculate doll to play with, I'd make one for myself."

 

William let his hands drop, his cheeks now ruddy and his eyes lowered uncertainly.  "What would you have me do next?"

 

"Go over to the table."

 

Shoving aside his apprehension, the younger reaper turned and obeyed, feeling that hot gaze branding him the whole time.  The stone floor was cold against his bare feet and he resisted the temptation to hug himself for warmth as he compliantly approached the intimidating examination table.  He started to climb onto it, but the Undertaker stopped him just as he put his hands on the surface and began to hoist himself up.

 

"Stop.  Stay right where you are, William."

 

The supervisor did as commanded, trembling all over now.  Was it fear?  His cock should be softening by now if it was.  No, what he was feeling was…excitement.  He was nervous, certainly, but he had his safe word and he trusted the older reaper to honor it if things got too intense and he chose to use it.  He'd already proven he was good to his word on that.  Bent over the examination table with his hands splayed on the cold surface of it, William waited for his companion's approach.  He couldn't even hear him coming, but he sensed him behind him as the Undertaker moved in.  He jumped slightly when the ancient's hands settled on his hips and squeezed them, and he closed his eyes when he felt his arousal grind against his naked backside through the trousers he still wore. 

 

Undertaker leaned over him as he pressed the tall length of his half-undressed body against William's, and he spoke into his ear.  "Good lad.  Let's have a better look at you, hmm?"

 

The mortician reached up to adjust the overhead light fixture, clicking it to a brighter setting.  Feeling exposed and vulnerable, William kept his eyes closed as the warmth of his companion retreated and the fingertips ghosted over his bowed shoulders and back.  They took their time in their exploration, tracing his spine and shoulder blades.

 

"Good, strong shoulders," approved the Undertaker.  "And the alignment of your spine and muscles are delightful.  It's really no wonder our rose couldn't keep his hands off you, love."

 

"Thank you," whispered the brunet.  Another tremor raced through him as the hands slid over his hips again.

 

"You're trembling like a leaf," said the Undertaker.  "Do you fear me?"

 

His hands curved around to the front of William's hips, and a gasp escaped William's lips as one of them gripped the shaft of his arousal and gave it a stroke.

 

"No," Undertaker said, answering his own question.  "Seems you're shivering for a different reason, my dear." 

 

His hand stroked up and down the length of the shaft again, and William moaned softly and rocked into the touch.  Velvety lips brushed against his shoulder as the mortician again pressed close, and the silvery fall of his hair tickled William's skin like glossy cobwebs.  "Could this be desire making you tremble?"

 

The mortician nudged the inside of one of William's bare ankles with his shoe, silently urging him to spread his legs further.  When he obeyed, Undertaker's other hand slid around to his backside and glided between his buttocks and beneath.  William bit back a groan as the hand cupped his balls, palming them gently.  Undertaker's lips continued to kiss his shoulder, and he murmured against his skin.

 

"Relax.  Submit to me."

 

William took a slow, trembling breath and consciously began to relax his muscles, ordering the tension from them as best he could.  The older reaper's steady, slow fondling felt so good, and though his thigh muscles clenched involuntarily when Undertaker slicked his thumb over the damp head of his cock, his body slowly complied with the demand.  His breath quickened and despite the chill in the air, tiny beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.

 

"You see?" purred the mortician.  "I _told_ you I would warm you up, love."

 

He rocked firmly against William's bare ass, drawing a gasp from him as his groin rubbed intimately against it.  One had began to steadily stroke him off, while the other massaged his balls.  William's bangs fell forward over his eyes as he bowed his head and panted softly.  He wanted to move…wanted to thrust into the blissful touch of the hand so skillfully stroking his length.  He knew it would displease the Undertaker if he did so without permission though, and he moaned in spite of himself with the effort to be still for him.  The silver reaper began to gyrate against him, rubbing the bulging crotch of his trousers against his bottom teasingly as he felt him up.  It went on for a few moments, before he suddenly stopped and withdrew.

 

William was ashamed to hear himself whimper in frustration.

 

"Step back for a moment, lovely," instructed the Undertaker.

 

Confused by the request, William straightened up and obeyed.  He was so hard he thought he might burst, but he dared not turn around and engage his companion.  He was surprised when the Undertaker went to a chest against the wall and retrieved a folded black blanket from within it.  As William watched, he shook it out and draped it over the examination table.  The mortician smiled and winked at him.

 

"You didn't think ol' Undertaker would make you lay on that table with naught between your lovely skin and the cold steel, did you?"  He retrieved another blanket, and he bundled it up into a makeshift pillow to cushion William's head.  "I may be somewhat sadistic, but I can be a gentleman too.  No need to worry, my dear; this table is always cleaned and sanitized between clients.  It won't be the most cushy surface, but I can't have you freezing your delightful bollocks off while I'm tending you, can I?" 

 

He placed the bundle at the head of the table and he walked around to the side of the structure, patting it invitingly.  "Upsy-daisy." 

 

William was quite sure that the blankets he was using were usually employed to cover the bodies he worked on, but they appeared freshly washed.  Trying not to think of what they had touched before, he approached the table again, turned around and hopped onto it.  The blanket slid a little beneath him as he scooted up on the surface, but the Undertaker supported him and helped him get aligned so that it wouldn't slip off.  William lay down on his back and he took another deep, steadying breath as the older man positioned his limbs, placing his arms at either side and parting his thighs.  He flinched involuntarily when the straps were secured around his wrists, biceps, calves and ankles, followed by another strap around his throat and midriff.  Undertaker worked quickly, securing him tightly to the table within moments.  The mortician stepped back to survey his handiwork once he had William completely restrained, and he grinned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

 

"Now, where to begin?" 

 

Those mesmerizing eyes scanned William's helpless body, the thick veil of long, silver lashes hooding them slightly.  Undertaker walked over to the instrument tray nearby and rolled out the case, revealing all manner of medical tools that glinted in the light and made William's apprehension return in full force.  He touched a scalpel, glancing at it thoughtfully before turning his eyes to the captive brunet again.

 

"I've never vivisected a lover before."

 

William paled, and he very nearly called out the safe word.  Unless that thing was a death scythe in disguise it couldn't actually _kill_ him, but being cut to pieces while his body tried to regenerate would no doubt be an agonizing experience.  "I…doubt I would be much use to you in halves."

 

"You would be surprised," said the mortician ominously.  He picked up the scalpel and he watched the brunet with a glint in his gaze.  William couldn't tell if it was humor or madness, and he strained against his bonds.

 

"S-sir," he said nervously.

 

The Undertaker snickered softly, the sadistic expression fading into warm amusement.  "Kidding.  Don't piss yourself, now.  I find that unattractive."

 

William heaved a sigh of relief, his strength bleeding out of him.  "I can't always tell when you're kidding.  You have a most…unusual way of teasing people."

 

Undertaker clucked his tongue and put the scalpel down.  "Oh dear, I seem to have scared away Mr. Pointy.  Allow me to remedy that."

 

William tensed again as the mortician approached and without warning, lowered his head to his crotch.  He sucked in a sharp breath as the mortician took his softening member into his mouth and sucked on it, massaging it with his tongue and lips.  He began to harden again immediately and he moaned, tossing his head as best he could with his neck restrained.  "U-Undertaker…ahh…"

 

The older reaper's hands stroked his tense thighs as he pleasured him with his mouth, lips sliding up and down the length until it was again rock hard.  He stopped, ending the treatment with a swirl of his tongue around the flushed tip, and he straightened up again.  William groaned, his cock twitching against his belly with need.

 

"That's more like it," purred the Undertaker with a smirk.  He went back to the instrument tray and picked up the scalpel again with one hand.  With the other, he reached for a jar of solution on the bottom shelf of the tray.

 

"I thought you were kidding," William accused, trying to see what he was doing but unable to lift his head very far off the blanket cushioning it.

 

"I was," assured the mortician.  He opened the jar and dipped a cotton swab into it.  "That doesn't mean I won't play a bit, though.  I told you I wanted to make you scream, William."

 

The brunet tried to calm himself as he watched Undertaker rub the solution over the scalpel's razor to sterilize it.  "And how exactly do you intend to 'play'?"

 

The Undertaker grinned at him and flipped the scalpel deftly in his hand.  "Lovingly."

 

William braced himself as he approached with the instrument.

 

~xox~

* * *

 

 _~Well, he hasn't resorted to the safe word yet,_ ~ reasoned the mortician to himself as he ran his fingertips along William's tense, gasping torso.  ~ _How full of surprises this one is._ ~

 

He shook his hair back and bent over to kiss the brunet's parted lips.  He did so tenderly, applying gentle pressure with his lips and tracing the entrance to his mouth with his tongue.  When William's tongue hesitantly stroked his in return, he deepened the kiss.  Once he had him sufficiently distracted, he made a shallow, stinging cut across his pectoral that made the brunet gasp and tense.  Undertaker kissed him harder and made another one, lower on his torso.  William bucked in his restraints but his verbal complaints were minimal.  A muffled, soft groan and a hiss when the mortician broke the kiss were all he offered in protest.

 

Undertaker licked his way down to the first cut, and he ran his tongue over it to collect the blood that welled there.  As he did this, he made another thin cut just below the navel, and then he put the instrument aside and proceeded to lick at the wounds he'd caused.  William's blood had a pleasing tanginess to it.  The cuts were already beginning to close, and Undertaker licked each one of them while they were still open.  William shuddered, his breath hitching with each loving caress of his tongue.  The mortician reached down to grasp his arousal, feeling it twitch in his hand.  He smiled.

 

"You must be rather used to having some blood drawn during love play," he guessed.  With a shark-toothed flame like Grell, it was almost a certainty.  "I think you rather enjoy the sting."

 

William had his eyes closed, and there was an expression of mixed pleasure and pain on his handsome features.  Undertaker smirked, finding it quite lovely.  He ran his trimmed nails over the brunet's torso, drawing pink lines over his skin.  Pity he couldn't put the full potential of his nails to good use, but keeping them long wasn't conductive to his plans for the night.  He stroked his cock again, looking down at it as he coaxed another drop of clear fluid to form on the tip. 

 

"I think you're ready for a bit more, darlin'."

 

William tensed again as he took the bloodied scalpel in hand once more, and he groaned as another cut was made on his inner thigh.  "N-not too close," he begged.

 

"I know where the arteries are, my dear," assured the Undertaker between licks.  "I have no intention of creating a river of blood in here."

 

"That wasn't what I meant."

 

Undertaker glanced up at the genitals so close to his face, and he grinned.  "Have no fear; I wouldn't want to knick _that_ particular spot and render it useless, sweet Willy." 

 

He chuckled at his own pun concerning William's nickname and that part of his anatomy, and he gave the cut one last lick.  It closed after that, and he stepped closer to the head of the table to bend over and kiss the agent again, letting him taste his own blood on his tongue.  William's muffled groan told him he was taking a reluctant, perverse delight in it and he felt like his trousers were getting too tight.  Still kissing his captive hungrily, he reached down to undo them again and relieve some of the pressure on his groin.  His cock peeked out through the opening, pink and swollen at the tip, but he was far beyond any semblance of modesty now.

 

As much as he wanted to get down to business and relieve his urges to hump the attractive reaper senseless, Undertaker wanted to prolong it for a bit longer.  He still hadn't heard William scream.  Smiling against the lips he had claimed, he reached down with one hand and he began to stroke him off again.  William bucked helplessly, his hips lifting a bit despite the restraints holding him down.  The mortician didn't admonish him for it, but he squeezed his nipples one at a time with bruising force, making him cry out.  Close, but not quite what he was looking for.

 

The Undertaker left off kissing his captive and he journeyed down from his mouth to his throat, and then to his clavicle.  William had a very nice collarbone.  He nipped at it and sucked on it for a moment, before moving on to his right nipple.  He stroked him off faster and harder as he closed his teeth gently around the tight bud and flicked his tongue against it.  William squirmed and panted, grunted and strained.  He gasped the mortician's name as he switched to the other nipple, his erection throbbing in his grasp.  Undertaker squeezed the base of it firmly, denying the orgasm that was trying to happen.  He sucked on his nipples one at a time as the agent bucked in his hand, flushing and trembling all over.

 

Finally, he heard that sound he'd been waiting for.  William yelled an oath of frustration, pleasure and pain.  The ancient finally took pity on him and stopped tormenting him, guessing that too much more might provoke the safety word and put an end to this charming encounter.  He released his swollen cock and he reached for the jar of lubricant he'd had the foresight to put out on the instrument tray.  Scooping up some of the ointment with his fingers, he used his free hand to unfasten the restraints on William's ankles and legs.  He guided the knees up and propped the soles of William's feet on the edge of the table, guiding him to spread his thighs to give him access.

 

"Wh-what about the rest of them?" demanded the agent breathlessly. 

 

Undertaker glanced up just as he began to slick the lubricant over William's tight little entrance.  "The rest of what, my dear?"

 

"The rest of…the restraints," William panted.

 

Undertaker smiled.  "Those stay as they are, pet.  I'm not quite finished dominating you, yet."

 

William groaned as a long finger slid gently into his rectum.  Undertaker felt around and he watched his face as he carefully probed the snug interior of his body.  "Hmm, you're clenching.  You're tight enough as it is, my dear.  Relax for me, and it will go easier."

 

To his credit, the brunet seemed to try.  He was obviously not used to being penetrated though, and he still had that stiff exterior to work through.  The Undertaker sighed and he patiently worked on it, kissing his trembling, perspiring body as he exercised his passage.  Eventually it began to relax around him, and he murmured encouragement against his captive's nipple before teasing it with his tongue and lips again.  William began to moan, and the mortician debated on reaching down with his free hand to finish off the job he'd started on his cock before.  He decided he'd rather have him come while he was inside of him, and he held off.

 

"There now," purred the Undertaker when he was able to fit another finger inside.  He stroked the pads of his fingers against the gland within experimentally, watching the younger man's face to gauge his reaction.  William jumped, his thighs starting to close in response to the burst of sensation.  "Too much, eh?  Easy, love.  We can save that for when I claim you." 

 

Undertaker eased off on the spot, focusing instead on stretching him inside and distracting him from the discomfort of it.  William's thighs relaxed and parted again as his body started to adjust to it, and the ancient smiled.  "Isn't that better, love?  It's starting to feel good, isn't it?"

 

William swallowed and blinked uncertainly, his lips parting to emit soft gasps.  "I…y-yes.  It's…"  He couldn't seem to find words to describe what it felt like, and another groan escaped his throat. 

 

"Go with it," urged the Undertaker.  "Don't censor yourself, my dear.  Just…feel."  He pumped his fingers firmly within him as he said it, and William tossed his head and moaned.  He worked him over patiently, kissing, licking, sucking and biting until the younger reaper was begging him.

 

"Please," panted William roughly.  "Please, sir…I c-can't…please!"

 

"What do you want of me, dear William?" asked the mortician teasingly.  "Say it."

 

William seemed to struggle for a moment, that damnable conservative nature creeping back up to hinder him.  Undertaker decided to make it easier for him, wiggling his fingers against the gland that obviously made his body scream with sensation.  The brunet cried out in surrender.  "F-fuck me!"

 

"Ah, that was what I've been waiting for," announced the Undertaker huskily.  He withdrew his fingers, shrugged out of his shirt and jacket, and kicked his shoes off.  His captive lay there helpless, panting and shifting his hips with impatient need.  A wet smear of precum glistened on his belly where the tip of his arousal touched it, and his chest heaved with his labored breaths.  His face was delightfully pink with desire and pleasure, the sign of one well broken in and ready to be claimed. 

 

The Undertaker tugged his trousers down and stepped out of them to stand before his companion completely nude, and despite his desperate need, William looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on each scar as if they were battle medals.  They remained longest on the newest one, caused by Dedrich Fischer's death scythe.  He looked as though he wanted to run his hands and lips all over those scars.  Undertaker grinned at him, having seen this reaction before when bedding an admiring young reaper.

 

"Later, darlin'.  You can explore me at will after I've had my way with you."

 

With that said, he pushed William's legs far apart and he climbed onto the table with him.  Thankfully, the structure was designed to hold up to three hundred pounds and Shinigami weighed roughly half of what their human counterparts did.  He eased down on top of William's restrained body and he positioned himself as he kissed him.

 

~xox~

* * *

 

"Oh God," gasped William helplessly as he felt the other reaper's cock breaching him.  It was thicker than the fingers he'd had inside of him before.  He clenched his hands into fists and he tried to relax around the intrusion.  The Undertaker's hair fell forward as he gazed down at him and slowly eased in, blanketing them both in thick, silver threads.  William stared up at him, concentrating on the beauty of that scarred face and the way Undertaker's lips parted with delight as he filled him.

 

"You really _have_ never done this before," guessed the mortician breathlessly, pausing with his length halfway inside of him.

 

William shook his head.  "No.  I've…always been in your position."

 

Undertaker grinned down at him, holding still inside of him.  "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, as much as you hold onto your precious control.  How does it feel, love, to be on the opposite side of the coin?"  He withdrew slowly, until he was out again.  He butted against the slick entrance teasingly, waiting for William's answer.

 

The brunet flushed deeper.  "I'm not sure how to answer that."

 

The ancient laughed softly and entered him shallowly again, just past the tip.  "You're over thinking it again.  Just be honest, love."

 

William tried to do as he suggested.  "It feels…frustrating."

 

"Oh?  How so?" 

 

Undertaker withdrew again, rubbing enticingly against his entrance.

 

"Because…I want you deeper," admitted William with a growl—though he knew he could be setting himself up for pain by encouraging that.  Even halfway in, it had felt like the other reaper was skewering him.

 

"Do tell."  Undertaker entered him again, his hard length easing in further…and further after that.  "How far in do you want me, pet?"

 

William panted at the sensation.  It no longer hurt…not really.  There was an ache from the stretching, but he was adjusted enough and aroused enough not to care much.  "All the way," he confessed, wrapping his legs around the other reaper's waist.  It was the only part of him he could embrace his captor with.  "Please."

 

"Well done," complimented the Undertaker softly.  He obligingly delved deeper…and deeper still.  William parted his lips and opened his eyes wide with shock as the rigid girth filled him, wedging in past tight walls of muscle to sheath itself to the hilt.  He thought it would go on and on until it pierced something vital, but then it stopped and the Undertaker's pelvic bone pressed firmly against his.

 

Undertaker nuzzled his temple, a sigh of pleasure emitting from him to tickle the brunet's ear.  "Oh, mercy…it's been a long time."

 

He remained still for a moment, reveling in the feel of the tight, clenching warmth surrounding him.  William breathed softly through his nose, trying to get used to the feeling of being filled so completely.  His fingertips scrabbled over the surface of the table, searching futilely for something to grab onto.  The Undertaker began to move, withdrawing to the tip and then plunging in again.  William gasped sharply as his cock pressed against that spot inside of him in passing, and the mortician grunted and did it again…and again.  The brunet's breath huffed with each pump, a moan emitting from his throat every time, in spite of his efforts to stay quiet.  His captor kept it slow and steady at first, pausing every second thrust to push in deep and rotate his hips.

 

"Ah…U-Undertaker," groaned William, his erection twitching between their bodies.  He wanted to touch him, but all he could do was keep his legs wrapped around him.  The older reaper suddenly gave a hard, sharp thrust that both pleasured and pained him, provoking another cry from his lips.  Undertaker's mouth covered his, a low growl vibrating in his throat as he started pumping faster and harder.  William lost his hold on him as the motions of his hips grew more pronounced, and he closed his eyes and hollered incoherently as the ancient hooked an arm under one of his knees and forced his leg up and back, allowing even deeper penetration. 

 

His toes curled as the firm push of the shaft inside of him stroked that sensitive area, providing brief, potent throbs of intensity.  William sucked on the long tongue caressing his, moaning with abandon that would have humiliating him, if he weren't so caught up in the moment.  The Undertaker made a husky sound of delight and gave another rough thrust that made him see starbursts behind his eyelids.  He was suddenly coming hard, and he strained and shuddered beneath the legendary reaper as his thrusts seemed to make it go on and on. 

 

In reality, it tapered off in moments but it was so intense that it felt much longer than that.  William trembled weakly when it finally ended, and his breath hitched again as the Undertaker changed his rhythm to quick, sharp thrusts.  He only made it to half-mast before his cock began to harden again, compelled by the bursts of pleasure shooting through his pelvis and spine.

 

William started to call out incoherently, unaware of anything he was saying.  He heard the other man gasping encouragement in his ear, urging him to let go completely.  He really had no choice but to obey now; all he could think of was the feel of this reaper's body pressing him down, sliding against his own and thrusting between his thighs.  He forgot who he was, forgot he was a man of careful control as the Undertaker tore down his walls and left him completely vulnerable. 

 

"I…it's happening…again," blurted William as the pressure built to another explosion of bliss.  He bit his tongue as he clamped his mouth shut in one last, instinctive effort of defiance.  He hardly felt the pain or noticed the taste of the blood in his mouth.  His lips parted despite his attempt to keep them shut, and another scream built in his throat. 

 

"Stubborn lad," panted the Undertaker with a smile as he reared back to watch the struggle on William's face.  "It's a bit too late to stop it."

 

He demonstrated this by shoving hard inside of him again, driving him over the brink.  William opened his eyes and stared blankly at the Undertaker's strained face as he spilled himself again, his libation smearing between their shifting bodies.  The ancient closed his eyes and cried out himself as the brunet's clenching passage brought him to climax as well, and the hardness inside of William swelled even further for a second, before pulsing and filling him with warm seed. 

 

The Undertaker bowed his head, his eyelashes fluttering and his mouth going slack as he came.  William stared up at him in awe, his own climax tapering off enough for him to be able to appreciate how gorgeous the silver reaper looked in the throes of final pleasure. 

 

"You are so beautiful," exclaimed William with breathless sincerity.  He was like a scarred angel to him, perfectly lovely and not at all disfigured by the marks of battle striping his body. 

 

The Undertaker opened his eyes slowly and met his gaze, smiling like one drugged.  "You have _no_ idea how much I needed that, my dear."

 

Curious about who his last lover had been and how long ago it was, William ventured a question.  "Has it been so long for you?"

 

The silver reaper nodded.  "Long enough to make me worry I might have forgotten how it's done."  He chuckled and lowered his mouth to the brunet's for a quick, soft kiss.  "Well, you've exceeded my expectations, Willy.  I think I've ravished you enough, for now.  Comfort comes next."

 

William was slightly confused by that, but he got distracted by the feel of Undertaker sliding out of his body and he gasped a little.  The mortician looked down at him, hovering over him.  "Sore, are you?"

 

The brunet flushed lightly, embarrassed by the burn in his nethers.  "A bit.  I'm sure it will pass."

 

"It will," assured the Undertaker.  "In the meantime, let's get cleaned up and into bed, shall we?"

 

~xox~

* * *

 

William quickly learned what the Undertaker meant by comfort.  He was like an entirely different lover, once he freed him from the table and helped him to the bathroom.  He drew a bath, got into it with him and bathed his body thoroughly, massaging with soap-slick hands all the while.  William finally got his chance to explore his body as well and he did so with enthusiasm, returning the favor of washing him and even scrubbing and conditioning his hair lovingly.  Undertaker was very tender with him, kissing him gently and pleasuring him with care. 

 

Once they were clean and robed, the mortician led him to the bedroom and they got into the big four-poster canopy bed together, discarding their robes to snuggle under the covers.  William was not generally a cuddly person except for with Grell when the redhead insisted on it, but he did find the Undertaker's embrace comforting and reassuring.  They kissed until they both nodded off, and William's soreness faded as his body recovered from their encounter.  He fell into an easy sleep, drifting off to pleasant dreams with his head resting on the smooth, pale chest of his idol.

 

~xox~

* * *

 

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, William woke up before his host, and his face flooded with color at the memory of what he'd done with this reaper. Naked beneath the soft sheets and puffy black comforter, he rolled onto his side and he stared at the Undertaker. The mortician's silken hair was covering his face completely and lying over his bare shoulder. William reached out impulsively to brush the locks aside, as he often did with Grell in the mornings when the redhead was still fast asleep. He paused when Undertaker stirred slightly and mumbled in his sleep, but as soon as he settled down again, William eased the fall of moon-pale hair away from his face.

 _~So beautiful,~_ he thought as he gazed upon the peacefully resting visage.

He still couldn't get over it. Where Grell was fire, the Undertaker was moonlight. Rarely did William indulge himself in the pleasures of what he wanted. He did not take vacation days, he was not in the habit of spending money on himself as a treat. His carefully structured life was filled with order and practicality; treating himself now and then was an almost foreign concept to him. Now he was feeling rather spoiled. He had not one, but _two_ gorgeous reaper lovers now. He'd never even imagined himself in a romantic relationship at all, but Grell's persistent nature had won out and Undertaker's charms were too great to resist.

He warned himself silently that he should be careful, that he should not allow lust and adulation to blossom into love. Grell had already managed to wedge his way into his heart before he even knew he'd done it, and now this ancient god of death threatened to do it as well. With a little sigh, William resisted the temptation to trace the scar winding around Undertaker's shoulder.

"Undertaker," he whispered.

"Mm?" Those long-lashed eyes slowly opened to focus on him.

"I'm afraid I need to be going," said William with no small hint of regret. "I have to work a half-day, you see. There is still quite a bit of paperwork I must see to, else I shall have to stay late on Monday. I prefer to clock out on time, whenever possible."

"Ah, the office calls, eh?" Undertaker pulled him close and nuzzled his throat with a sigh. "Well, it was nice while it lasted."

Will shivered in reaction to the feel of the mortician's silken lips against his throat. He still bore marks on various parts of his body from their lovemaking, and he would need to wear a high collar to conceal them from the nosey eyes of his coworkers. "I would stay for longer if I could," he murmured. Gods, he wish he could.

"I s'pose I shouldn't be surprised." Undertaker smirked, holding his gaze as he ran his fingers through the mussed brown hair. "Just remember to take a bit of time for yourself, Willy. Believe it or not, reapers aren't as immortal as we'd like to believe. Stop enjoying life and you might end up seeking to end it."

"I shall keep that advice in mind, sir," promised William. He kissed him lingeringly once more, before getting up to gather his clothes and get going. The Undertaker seemed content to just watch him from his reclined position, and Will flushed over the way the mortician's gaze leisurely caressed his body.

* * *

Grell accosted him in the hallway as soon as William made it to the office. "Well, darling? Don't keep a lady in the dark! How was it?"

Faintly surprised to see him come into work on an off-day, Will glanced at his lover. "What are you doing here?" Grell hadn't been present at the apartment when he'd gone home to shower and change for work, so Will presumed he'd gone out shopping.

"I am here to see my handsome lover, of course." Grell smiled and winked at him. "And to hear all about your evening with the Undertaker. You seem to be walking a bit stiffly, William." Grell's gaze swept over him slyly, his eyes twinkling in a knowing way.

"This is definitely not the appropriate time or place to discuss such personal matters," hissed Will as they passed other collection officers in the hallway. "Please do be silent."

"Oh, you are _such_ a puritan at times, William." Grell sighed, but he dutifully refrained from mentioning it again until they walked into Will's office. Once in there, Grell pushed the door closed and he locked it with a grin. "There now, your modesty is secure. I want to hear every detail!"

Will's expression tightened uncomfortably and he had a seat behind his desk. "We went out to dinner, we went to a show and then we returned to the funeral parlor."

Grell's face fell. "Is that _really_ all you intend to give me, William? I went through a lot of trouble to procure you a date with that man and you aren't even going to describe _one_ little detail of the evening to me?"

Will sighed, averting his gaze. "Does it truly matter so much to you? Do you really wish to hear the details?"

Grell walked over to his desk and he hopped lightly onto it, crossing his legs. "Yes, I would like to hear the details. What sort of lover is he? Was he rough? Gentle?"

"Both," admitted Will, lowering his eyes. He felt his cheeks grow warm as he replayed the erotic encounters in his mind. "He was very...assertive in the beginning, but afterwards he was quite gentle."

Grell clasped his hands together in delight, his expression going dreamy. "Oh, William...I'm so delighted for you! Tell me...do you think you could ever see yourself in a ménage à trois with the two of us? Would you allow me to bed the Undertaker too?"

"I...this really is not a conversation I am prepared to have just yet," Will answered, squirming slightly in his seat as Grell's words conjured up shocking images in his mind.

"But Will, I must know! Was last night only a one-time event, or would you be willing to expand our relationship to include our silver madman permanently?"

William looked up at him, studying him quietly. He knew Grell wanted this...knew he was just as attracted to the Undertaker as he was to him. Death help him, William wanted it too, but how could such an arrangement work? How could the three of them manage to give equal attention to each other, with no jealousy or competition? William had struggled in the beginning of his relationship with Grell as it was. Could he really make room for a third party?

"Allow me to help you decide," Grell finally insisted when Will didn't answer him. He leaned over to caress William's face and smooth a strand of wayward hair from his forehead. "Imagine never having the Undertaker again, William. Think of all the passionate activities you shared with him last evening, and ask yourself if you can truly deprive yourself of future encounters like that."

William could not deny that was a terribly disappointing thought. Grell had already proven that he was willing to share him with the Undertaker. His bigger concern was how he himself would feel, watching the two of them together. "I would not like that," he confessed with a sigh, "but I am still uncertain of how this sort of arrangement could work. I have never shared a lover before, and I cannot promise it won't inspire stirrings of...jealousy."

Grell smiled at him, and he leaned over further to give him a soft kiss on the lips. "However will you know if you don't experiment, Will? I shall make a deal with you, to make this easier on you. I shan't make love with our ghostly stud without you being there. If you find it too much to bear, say the word and we shall immediately stop and go no further. Would that be reasonable enough for you?"

William considered it. "I suppose."

It was only fair, after all. He'd had his night with the Undertaker and he couldn't very well deny Grell the same chance without being a hypocrite. "How do these things occur, though? Am I to simply be a voyeur, like some depraved pervert?"

Grell chuckled and took his hand to give it a squeeze. "It won't be as though you're spying on us through a window, darling. It will be consensual on all sides, and therein lies the difference. There's also nothing to stop you from joining in, if you find yourself dissatisfied with simply watching us. I am sure the Undertaker won't mind, and _I_ certainly won't."

Will lowered his gaze again. Could he really go through with this? Would he be able to participate without feeling awkward or embarrassed? He doubted Undertaker would have issues with it, after the night they'd shared. The man had certain appetites that didn't lend to bashfulness. Still, he didn't feel right about plotting this without consulting the man first.

"Perhaps we should discuss it with him before we make any final plans," suggested Will. "Or at least, you should. I honestly would not know how to even begin making such a suggestion to him."

"Then leave that up to me." Grell smiled at him and kissed him once more, before hopping back down off the surface of his desk. "Never fear, my love. I shall make all the arrangements. Would tonight be acceptable to you?"

Will swallowed, wondering if he ought to have Grell schedule it for next week to give himself more time to adjust to the idea. If he did that, however, he could very well lose his nerve. Sutcliff likely knew that as well, hence his suggestion to schedule it so soon after Will's first encounter with the mortician. It was fresh on his mind and it was too tempting to easily turn it down.

"Very well."

* * *

The Undertaker was pleasantly surprised when Grell paid a visit to his shop later that day, after lunchtime. He smiled at the crimson reaper as the door opened to admit him, even as he squinted against the daylight that poured in behind Grell.

"Afternoon, Miss Sutcliff," he greeted as Grell closed the door and walked over to his desk. "What might I do for you t'day?"

Grell finished sauntering over to him and he circled around behind the mortician's desk to rub his shoulders. "You can pretty yourself up for another date tonight," he informed softly. "That is, if your schedule will allow it."

Undertaker glanced down at his paperwork. He did have a client to finish up with, but for another opportunity like the night before, he'd be all too happy to rush it a bit. "Hmm, another date with Willy? Or will I be getting you, this time?"

Grell smiled and he leaned over to murmur into the ancient's ear, bumping the brim of his hat with his cheek in the process. "Try both of us, handsome."

The Undertaker's brows shot up and he turned his head to gaze at Sutcliff. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes to search Grell's. "If that's a joke it's a mean one, love."

Grell's eyes were sultry and heavy-lidded with promise. "I assure you, it's no joke. I spoke with him about it at the office and while it took a bit of convincing, he has agreed to it. Now, I should warn you that Willy's still a bit lacking in confidence—and I myself have never endeavored to try having two men at once before—but we are both very willing to try."

Grell brushed his soft lips against the mortician's cool cheek, eyes fluttering shut. "Just be gentle with me at first, darling. While I myself enjoy bondage play and adore a forceful man, two at the same time could break even a maiden such as myself. I'm not at all sure how Willykins may react if you use too much force, either."

"I'd never treat a lady roughly on the first encounter," agreed Undertaker a tad breathlessly, his body reacting quickly to Grell's proposal, "not unless she asked me too, anyway."

"Mm, good," purred Grell. He pulled the mortician's chair back a little to make more room between it and the desk, and he eased himself sideways into his lap and put his arms around his neck. "I trust you to ease into it, my pale prince. Once William is more comfortable with the arrangement, we can play a bit rougher."

"Indeed." Undertaker ran his nails over Grell's back in a sensual glide. They'd already grown to half their usual length overnight. "Seems I'd better give my nails another trim, yeah?"

"Why?" Grell took the mortician's other hand in his and he brought it to his lips to kiss the fingers one at a time. "You needn't bother with it, darling. Will can prepare me for you when the time comes—or I can prepare myself as you both watch. Whatever you prefer."

The suggestion put such a sensual picture in the Undertaker's imagination that his breath caught. "Both have a certain appeal t' me, lovely. I'd enjoy watching either way." He grunted a little as Grell sucked one of his fingers into his mouth, further impassioning him. His pants were far too tight and he wondered if this bold creature might soon have him spilling himself without even touching him.

Undertaker withdrew his finger from Grell's suckling mouth and he cupped the back of his head. "Kiss me," he demanded. "Let's seal the deal, darling."

Grell was all too willing to comply.

* * *

When Grell left, the Undertaker put off finishing his work on his latest client in favor of checking in on a certain rival funeral director on the other side of town. He casually strolled into Edward Marlow's shop, tapping a walking cane he'd brought with him. He tipped his hat at Marlow when the man looked up from his task of arranging some bottles on the shelves, and he grinned at the uneasy expression on his face.

"Afternoon, chap," greeted the reaper. "How's business been on this side? Well, I hope?"

Marlow inched his way over the counter where his cash register sat. "Can't rightly complain, sir. You're the owner of the...er..."

"Southside Mortuary," finished the Undertaker for him. "I had a bit of free time to spare, so I thought I'd gallivant over to this side of town for a visit to my competition."

"Oh, we ain't in competition," insisted the mortal, clearly nervous around him. He'd likely heard all sorts of unsavory rumors about the mysterious man who associated with the Phantomhives when he wasn't running his mortuary.

Undertaker smiled and tilted his head, wolf-like. "Aren't we?" He made a graceful, sweeping gesture at the interior of the shop. "You run a mortuary and so do I. No worries, bloke. A bit of competition is healthy, after all. I ought to warn you though; some folk take it more seriously than others."

"Oh?" Marlow broke into a sweat. "Like how?"

The reaper approached and he glanced over his shoulder as if checking to make sure nobody was about to come into the shop. "Well, just between me and you, someone tried to poison me the other night. Stuffed it right into a body cavity of a cadaver that got delivered to me for an autopsy. My goodness, it make a horrible stench when I cut into him and the vapor nearly did me in!"

Undertaker spread his hands and shrugged. "Can't imagine who'd want to do away with a harmless ol' funeral director like myself—'cept mayhap a rival." He grinned again and Marlow took a step back. "Can you?"

The reaper noticed a barely perceptible tremor in the portly human's body as Marlow shook his head convulsively. "N-no sir. I can't imagine 'tall."

"Hmm." The Undertaker shrugged again and he tapped his cane on the floor. "Well, it seems someone out there doesn't like having me as competition one bit. Seeing as there's several mortuaries in London, it could have been anyone of 'em."

"And why come t' me, then?" Questioned Marlow. "Are you...accusing me of something?"

"Oh, not at all," assured the reaper in a convincingly innocent tone. "You're too mild mannered for me to consider you a threat, Mister Marlow. I'm merely suggesting you keep your ear to the ground. If they'd come after me, they'd probably come after you as well. We morticians have to stick together, you know. Don't suppose you've seen or heard anything odd lately, eh?"

Marlow licked his lips and the taller mortician could see the fear in his eyes. He knew damned well what the answer to that question was, seeing as he'd already paid a visit to the man in disguise a few nights ago. Still, Marlow shook his head in denial. "Not at all."

"Huh. Not even a peep?" Undertaker scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Ah well. Mayhap they're just after me, then. It could even be someone from the underground thinking I might have information that could lead to their arrest by the Yard...who knows?"

The reaper tipped his hat again. "Right then—just thought I'd pass the word to you just in case. Have a nice day, chap."

He spun and walked back out the door, making a show of swaying like he always did to lend the impression of poor balance. Once he was outside again he grinned. Perhaps he shouldn't have let on that he knew someone was trying to put him out of business, but watching that fat buggar sweat had given him pleasure. The Undertaker started to whistle a tune as he began to walk back down the street and he looked for an available carriage to hail to take him back home. As he walked away, a couple went into Marlow's funeral parlor and within moments, Undertaker got a sense of premonition. His instincts proved correct when he heard a woman scream, and he turned around to see the man come running back out, shouting for help.

As the reaper watched, a policeman hurried across the street to see what the matter was and he overheard the man say that the shop owner had collapsed and was lying on the floor inside, apparently dead. Undertaker clucked his tongue, realizing the poor sod's ticker must have given out on him at last. He'd suspected that Marlow wasn't long for this world, but he hadn't been sure just how long he had left.

He stood there for a moment and he was just about to go and investigate when a familiar young reaper appeared from the alley between the buildings. Blond on top and black on the bottom, the agent's hair was styled into a feathered cowlick and he carried with him a report book. He was masked from mortal sight and he went inside immediately—leaving little doubt in the Undertaker's mind that his rival was indeed passing.

"This ought to be rich," muttered the Undertaker as it dawned on him that Dispatch might come questioning him once they reviewed Marlow's cinematic records and saw him appear at the end of them. In fact, the police officer came back out with the man that had called for help and Undertaker groaned inwardly when the civilian pointed right at him.

"Seems I'll be answering questions sooner than I thought."

* * *

William got the report that the Undertaker had evidently frightened a rival mortician so badly that the man had a heart attack. According to Knox's additional report, Ronald had witnessed the Undertaker getting questioned by the police because a mortal couple had seen him exit the shop just moments before they found the deceased lying on the floor inside. The police didn't detain him at least, but they warned him not to try and leave London until they could have the body autopsied to rule out foul play. Reviewing the records revealed that the Undertaker didn't lay so much as a finger on the other funeral director, but it also revealed that Marlow was the one behind the recent attempt on Undertaker's life.

William chose to speak with the Undertaker about the matter himself, considering that Grell had already informed him that the man agreed to their date tonight. He steeled himself as he arrived outside the Undertaker's shop and he smoothed his tie before opening the door.

"Undertaker?"

"Just a moment," called the ancient's voice from downstairs in the basement. He appeared through the curtain moments later and he smiled at William. "Bit early, aren't you?"

"Actually, I am here prematurely so that we can speak of what occurred today at Mister Marlow's funeral parlor. I wished to get your statement myself, if you don't mind."

Undertaker nodded. "Thought so. Well, pull up a coffin and I'll brew us some tea. It's actually an ironic story."

William seated himself on one of the—hopefully empty—coffins. "I can imagine. I reviewed the cinematic reels myself and I must say, I wish you had told me that Marlow was the one responsible for the poisoning incident."

Undertaker shrugged and went back behind the curtain to heat up the kettle. "Wasn't much to tell, chap. He tried to poison me and I had no way t' prove it to mortal authorities, so I decided to do a bit of playing."

William smirked. "Yes, I witnessed your 'playing', sir. Very clever. Unfortunately, the deceased recognized you by your smile in the end. I heard him say so to himself after you left his shop, just before his collapse."

"Oh?" Undertaker pulled the curtain aside and poked his head back in with interest. "What'd he say, then?"

"That he knew you were Death," answered William in a faintly disapproving tone. "It seems your smile gave you away. He recalled the same smile on the grim reaper that intruded in his home evenings before."

"Ah, I see. I s'pose face paint can only go so far as a disguise, eh?"

"So it would seem, sir." William sighed and looked up at him as the mortician came back in with a jar of his signature bone-shaped snacks in one hand. "Undertaker, you must be more cautious. You may be retired, but there are still rules against revealing our nature to mortals. If incidents such as this keep occurring I may not be able to convince the board to leave you in peace."

"Worried about me, are you?" Undertaker smiled at him and offered a biscuit. "How was I to know the bloke'd drop dead just 'cause I gave him the willies?"

"Perhaps because you have a talent for sensing these things at times," reasoned William. He took a biscuit for politeness' sake. "Thank you. Sir, I would truly rather not be put in the position of having to lay down restrictions on your lifestyle. It was only due to your fame and your previous contributions to Dispatch that they pardoned you to begin with. Whether it was your intent to literally frighten that man to death or not, it happened and he knew the truth about what you are in the end."

Undertaker shrugged. "Doubt he got the chance t' spread the word, lad. Don't be so uptight. It was an honest mistake."

"What you did on his property was quite deliberate," corrected William. "Just please be more careful in the future, Undertaker. That is all I ask."

Undertaker sighed and he bit into one of his treats. "Finished lecturing, Willy?" he mumbled around the biscuit.

"For now." William managed a faint smile. "Did Grell discuss with you the...details of our scheduled outing tonight?"

Another grin found its way onto the mortician's pale lips. "Only that I get the both of you. Doesn't much matter to me where we go, long as it ends happily for all three of us."

"I thought perhaps we could dine in tonight," suggested William, his cheeks coloring a bit. "I would like to extend the invitation for you to come to our apartment for a quiet, intimate dinner for a start."

"Hmm, having had someone cook me a meal in a while," mused the ancient. He didn't typically like to visit the other side very often, but he imagined William might feel more secure in the familiar surroundings of his own bedroom when the real fun began. Undertaker nodded in consent, taking pity on him. "All right. What'll we be having?"

"I was considering a mushroom risotto," answered William. "Bear in mind I'm no world-class chef, but risotto is simple enough that I am not likely to mess it up."

"Not likely," agreed the Undertaker. "Well then, I look forward to it, Will. I've no idea where you live, so if you could just pop back in...oh, say two hours, I ought to be finished with my client and cleaned up."

"Absolutely," agreed William. He finished the treat he'd been given and he stood up, forgetting all about the tea Undertaker had offered earlier. He stuck his hand out politely as if they'd just concluded a business arrangement. "I shall see you around six, then."

Undertaker forgot about the tea as well. He chuckled and he shook his head at Will's propriety. "Not that I mind you calling me 'sir' when I'm dominating you, love, but you really ought to stop being so bloody proper all the time. Come here."

Will didn't resist when the mortician set aside his treats and pulled him close for a kiss. He relaxed in the Undertaker's arms and he hummed softly into the kiss. "Yes, well...it's still quite new to me," he excused breathlessly when the other reaper finally released him. "It may take some time for me to break old habits, when it comes to you."

"Then I'll just have to help you," alluded the Undertaker with a wink. "See you tonight, Will."

* * *

"Oh William, stop pacing," chastised Grell as his lover walked back and forth in the kitchen. Dinner was nearly ready and the appointed time to go and get their romantic interest was approaching fast. "Why don't you just let _me_ go and get him while you finish setting up here? It will give you the chance to have a drink and settle down."

William paused in his restless pacing and he looked at the redhead—who was leaning over the countertop watching him with his elbows propped on the surface. "Yes, that may be the best option. I fear the kitchen may burn down if I leave you to watch over the food."

Grell chuckled. "That isn't what you fear and we both know it, darling. Just relax and remember that this needn't go any further than you wish—though I hope that will be very, very far." His eyes caressed Will's body leisurely and he was already imagining what it was going to be like to have two gorgeous men in his bed.

"Save it for after dinner, Grell," warned William upon recognizing the amorous look he was giving him. "Do not rush me, if you want this to go the way you've planned."

Grell shrugged. "I'm only admiring you, my love. Where is the harm in that?"

He glanced at the clock and he grinned. "Besides, it's time for me to go and collect our grinning beauty. I would hate to be tardy, after all." He walked around from behind the counter to approach his lover, and he rubbed Will's tensing shoulders soothingly. "It happened naturally enough last evening, did it not? Just do the same as you did then and go with your instincts, William. Now I must be off to bring our guest." He kissed the other reaper on the cheek and he turned to go, leaving William to think on his advice.

* * *

When they returned to the apartment together, Grell and the Undertaker found William cursing softly in the kitchen. His hand was bleeding from a cut to his hand, evidently caused by the shattered wineglass on the floor. Grell rushed to his side immediately, cooing at him as he took his hand to examine the damage. "Tch...you silly man. How did you manage this?"

"I believe I was holding it too tightly," confessed Will in as calm a tone as he could manage. He watched the Undertaker from the corner of his eye as the silver reaper went to his side to peer at the cut as well. "The glass was evidently more fragile than I realized."

"Looks as though you've got a shard or two stuck in there," observed the mortician. "Grell love, why don't you clean up the mess while I take Willy to the bathroom to take care of this, yeah?"

"Of course," agreed the redhead. "Take good care of him, darling. The bathroom is the second door on the left down the hallway you saw to the right when we came in."

"Right. This way, chap." Undertaker tugged Will along with him by the wrist after snatching up a napkin to press gently against the bleeding cut. "This shouldn't take long to clean up and dress."

Feeling like an utter klutz, William followed the older reaper silently. He did as he was told and he had a seat on the dressing bench in the bathroom while his guest rummaged through the medicine cabinet.

"Fancy place you've got here," observed the Undertaker as he opened the cabinet and squinted. "This bathroom's about as big as my kitchen! Do you throw tub parties in here or somewhat, William?"

"Not at all," answered William. He eased the napkin off of his hand to study his hand, and fresh blood welled from it. "I believe there should be a pair of tweezers in there if you need them."

"Found 'em," answered the Undertaker. "Now slide your tush closer to the sink and hold your hand over it for me so I can rinse the blood away and have a better look at what I'm doing."

Will did so and he watched as the ancient turned on the tap. He only winced a little when Undertaker guided his palm beneath the water flow and he concentrated on the man's ivory-pale features as he worked over him. Undertaker's touch was gentle and practiced as he turned Will's hand and pressed gently around the site of the cuts.

"Ah, there it is," announced the mortician. "Deep breath, chap. This will sting a bit, but it'll be over soon."

William did as he suggested and he held as still as possible as the ancient used the tweezers to remove the shard of glass in his skin. There was a sharp pain but it only lasted for a second, and then Undertaker dropped the glass down the sink and stuck his hand under the water again. He pulled loose the gauze roll he'd found and he trimmed off a piece to fold it into a square, which he set aside.

"You seem to know your way around the medicine cabinet," grunted Will as the other man dabbed some antiseptic onto the square and pressed it into his palm.

Undertaker smirked. "Well I should, considering all the time I spend fooling around with such things. Hold your palm out flat while I wrap this up. Seeing as it was just glass, it ought to be healed up and good as new by morning."

William watched him dress the injury with professional care, and his cheeks began to heat up again at the thought of other ways those talented hands had recently been on him. He noticed how much longer Undertaker's nails were than last night and he blinked in surprise. "Did you not just trim those yesterday?" he asked, nodding at the long busy fingers.

"Mm-hmm," confirmed the mortician with an absent nod. He taped up the bandaging to keep it in place and he turned Will's hand over to inspect the dressing. "They tend t' grow awfully fast, is all. If it bothers you I can trim 'em again, if you've got some clippers I could use."

"No need," assured William. "I was merely surprised. I had no idea nails could grow so quickly."

Undertaker chuckled. "Most don't. Though you know, hair and fingernails continue to grow post mortem. Isn't that interesting?"

"I...suppose." The strange fact didn't really surprise him, but he hoped that the Undertaker wouldn't spend the evening discussing corpses while they were eating. His heart skipped a beat when the mortician finished up and smiled at him. "Thank you, Undertaker. I cannot believe my own clumsiness."

"Eh, reaper strength," excused the Undertaker lightly as he put away all of the items he'd taken from the medicine cabinet. "It's easy to forget our own potency at times...especially when under stress."

He met Will's eyes knowingly, his smile softening a bit as he reached out to run his fingers through the younger reaper's dark hair, mussing it. "Even after last night, you're so tense. Don't fret none, Willy. I've got no plans to tie you up and torture you this time. I can enjoy other intimate activities without resorting to restraints and extremes."

William couldn't bring himself to tell the man he'd quite enjoyed all that. He had the feeling the Undertaker already knew as much, so there was no point in embarrassing himself trying to say something that would make him feel awkward. "It isn't you," he revealed instead. "The problem lies with me and my conservative nature. As I said; it may take some time for me to get used to the newness of it all."

"Then we'll go easy," promised the mortician. "You've seen two sides of me in the bedroom so far, my dear. There's yet more to see."

William couldn't imagine what more the man could show him about himself on that subject. He'd explored more activities with the Undertaker so far than he'd ever explored with anyone else—including Grell. He still couldn't believe that he, William T. Spears, was planning to bed two people at once—or at least watch them bed one another. He found himself picturing Grell with the Undertaker and he found the idea...exciting.

"Well then," murmured Will at last, enchanted by those steady eyes on him, "shall we join Grell in the dining room? Dinner should be ready to serve, now."

"Right," agreed the mortician. He helped Will up and he opened the door for him solicitously.

"By the way," William said as they went into the hallway together, his gaze sweeping over him admiringly, "you look very handsome."

The Undertaker had tied his hair back into a ponytail for the evening, and he wore a long button up black shirt, his form-fitting pants and his signature black boots. He was even wearing his glasses for a change and Will thought they made him look sophisticated and sexy. "I did not get the chance to tell you when you first arrived. However you feel about them, those glasses suit you very well."

Undertaker chuckled. "Probably a good thing I wore 'em tonight. I'd have had trouble extracting the glass from your palm without some sort of corrective eyewear and then we might've had to let Grell dig at you, instead."

"Well thank goodness for small favors," sighed Will. He could just imagine how much more unpleasant the experience would have been if his lusty partner had been the one to treat his injury.

* * *

Dinner turned out better than William expected it to, and he took the compliments to his cooking graciously. They had red wine with the meal and they chatted about casual things over their dinner. He finally relaxed—until the Undertaker blurted something that had him nearly choking on his beverage.

"So William, since I've had a go at you, it's only fair you get to have one at me tonight."

William coughed and he hastily grabbed his napkin to wipe his lips, thinking he must have misheard him. "I beg your pardon?"

Was the reaper that had made it so clear to him the night before that he was the one in charge now offering to take on a more submissive role? The thought made his heart pound and he heard Grell gasp, too. Evidently, he wasn't the only one to find the offer surprising. The Undertaker just smiled at him and winked.

"Didn't I tell you there was more to see, Willy? Didn't I say I can enjoy all sorts of activities in the bedroom?"

William struggled for a response, but Grell beat him to it. "Oh, Unnie...would you?" The redhead's eyes were shining with obvious pleasure at the thought of seeing Will on top. "I didn't know you were so versatile!"

William vividly recalled the Undertaker hinting to him that he might enjoy a demonstration of how well he knew how to use his cock, the first time they'd made out together. Given the man's tendency to tease and his unpredictability, William hadn't really taken it to heart. Now it seemed he was serious after all and the supervisor couldn't stop staring at him. "Let us...see where the evening takes us," he said carefully, trying his best not to seem too eager. There was no denying how badly he wanted to take him up on that. He imagined that glorious, scarred body lying beneath him, the pale lips gasping with each thrust as William had his way with him. What would the Undertaker look like in such a light. It almost seemed...wrong...for him to want to have such a legend that way.

"Have I flustered you, William?" The mortician grinned at him. "You aren't suffering performance anxiety now, are you? Grell, darlin', what can I expect if your dear William accepts my offer? Is he a thorough lover?"

"Oh yes," sighed Grell immediately, batting his lashes at William. "Will's a fantastic lover. He knows when to take me hard and when to be gentle. I rarely have to prompt him. I think you'll find his instincts are amazing!"

The Undertaker's mesmerizing gaze remained on William and he smirked. "So he's demonstrated already. Just getting your opinion, love."

"Oh, trust me," promised Grell with a leer at William that made him want to put a bag over his head. "My darling ice-prince—as I'm sure you know by now—thaws very quickly once his passions are roused."

"Mm, indeed," agreed the mortician with a purr.

William cleared his throat, beginning to feel like a piece of tasty meat they were both eyeballing. "I believe it's time for dessert," he said, changing the subject. "Please excuse me whilst I fetch it from the kitchen."

Undertaker chuckled with amusement as he left the dining room.

* * *

"You can do this, William," said the brunet to himself later on after pleading his bladder and locking himself into the bathroom. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and he took a deep breath. "You have already bedded both of them separately. Both have expressed satisfaction with your performance. It will be fine."

But he'd never bedded the Undertaker the way the man suggested at the dinner table and while it made him wildly excited to be offered such an opportunity, he couldn't help but feel he was about to take some sort of exam. After the performance the Undertaker gave him last night, he knew he'd have to be exceptional if he didn't want to disappoint him. Despite Grell's reassurances of his skills, he couldn't help but feel anxious.

He didn't have to go through with it though, after all. They'd both made it clear to him that he could just watch if he didn't feel comfortable joining in. Perhaps if he just started out doing that, his anxiety would fade and he would gain enough confidence to participate. William sighed and he turned on the water to collect some of it in his uninjured hand and splash some on his face. His cheeks cooled and he sternly reminded himself of whom he was. He was not some green rookie trying to impress an instructor, and he had never performed poorly in any of his endeavors.

"I can do this," he said again before exiting the bathroom.

He found Grell and their guest dancing in the living room when he came out of the hallway. The music player was on and a classical tune popular right now in the mortal world was playing. Grell laughed and twirled as his taller dance partner spun him, and then the Undertaker skillfully dipped him with a smile. William watched them together quietly, unwilling to disturb the moment as the two of them locked eyes with each other.

"You dance beautifully," Grell complimented, still suspended in place by the Undertaker's embrace. "I wouldn't have guessed. What other surprises have you hidden up your sleeve, darling?"

The mortician chuckled. "You'll just have to wait and see, pretty rose."

"Mm, so that's how you're going to be, is it?" Grell reached up to tuck the mortician's dangling, single braid back behind his ear. "Tell me something imperfect about you. Surely there's something besides a macabre sense of humor."

"Oh, quite a few things, I'm sure." The Undertaker straightened up with Grell and resumed dancing with him. "You've seen how rotten my social skills are, dearie. Then there's my obnoxious sweet tooth, my terrible penmanship and my cackling laughter. There's plenty of flaws that come with these ol' bones. You just ain't seen all of 'em yet."

Grell's eyes softened on him as the Undertaker's head began to lower toward his, closer and closer. "Well, it's good to know I am not the only one with flaws."

"Not hardly," agreed the mortician, and then his lips covered Grell's.

William's face damnably heated up again as he watched the two of them lock lips. Grell was blushing with passion and he made those whimpering sounds of need in his throat, barely audible over the music. Undertaker tightened his embrace on him, pressing one hand against the small of his back. Grell sifted his fingers through the elder's long silver ponytail, breath visibly quickening as the Undertaker kissed him more deeply.

Will kept expecting to feel some hint of jealousy or confusion, but the longer he watched them kiss, the more his pulse quickened and the tighter his pants began to feel. He didn't feel threatened at all; a thing which had been his chief concern when they began exploring the possibility of this relationship. It wasn't at all like the ugly feeling he'd experienced when he learned that Grell had relations with Sebastian Michaelis, before they got together. Instead, all he could think of was that here were these two desirable reapers embraced before him, and how bloody good they looked together.

Grell started urging the Undertaker backwards toward the couch and they fell upon it together, the ancient on his back and Grell on top of him. "Unnie," sighed Grell between kisses, "oh, Undertaker...darling..."

Before he even knew what he was doing, William's feet carried him into the room and to the couch. He squatted down beside it and he reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering over Grell's bright hair for a moment before stroking it slowly. Grell broke the kiss to look at him with a smile, and so did the mortician.

"Shall we retire to the bedroom, gentlemen?" suggested Grell.

Will parted his lips and he struggled for a response to that. Then the Undertaker took his uninjured hand and he stared up at William as his straight, pearly teeth nibbled his fingertip enticingly. William shivered, swelling further in his pants in response to the sensual action. He heard himself speak and he barely recognized his own husky voice.

"Absolutely."

* * *

-To be continued


End file.
